The Tale of Marian
by Rana1
Summary: In today's world, a woman searches for her path and finds it laid before her in a most unusual way. A Haldir romance, eventually, but is it the Haldir we remember from the third age, or has he changed?
1. Default Chapter

Author's note: I don't own any of the Lord of the Rings characters, story lines, etc. I'm only doing this for fun and for my love of Tolkien's works. It's not like anybody would ever offer to pay me for this anyway, and I couldn't accept if they did, now could I?  
  
* * * * * * * THE TALE OF MARIAN  
  
Chapter One: Remembrance.  
  
This is a story of love.  
  
None can foresee where love will take us. Love fulfilled leads some to great happiness, yet leads others to their downfall. Love lost or unrequited drives some to accomplish great deeds, and others to fall into darkness, despair, and even death. Love given, even with the best intentions, can result in either good or ill. Love withheld can be a curse, or a blessing.  
  
Love of a person, love of duty, love of an idea, or a place, or a thing: Which is the greater love? Each of us must judge for ourselves. Why does it matter, you may ask? It may be what matters most of all, for what each of us - even the most insignificant of us - loves, and how we choose to show our love. . . . . . . . affects us all.  
  
* * * * *  
  
My name is Jason. I am writing this all down, although stories are better told out loud than read. But soon, none will live who remember. We are no longer a world that has time to teach our children to memorize long tales, or to make them sit and listen. As Marian was wont to tell me, life is too short, too diverse, too complicated. We are specialists, each knowing only our little corner, our own little territory. So we write it all down, copy it, disseminate it on every medium imaginable - papers, magazines, e-mail, faxes, disks - so that as a people, we won't forget the important things. The important things will be there, she assured me, buried somewhere in the flood of worthless information that assaults us every day, so that we can find them when we need to remember.  
  
I am sitting here now, next to her, where she asked me to bring her. This room is where she wanted to die, and how could I deny her? I could never deny Marian anything. I could trick her, tease her mercilessly, goad her, make her laugh, but I could not say no to her. I know every laugh line, every sad line, every wrinkle on her face. I watched them appear and deepen through the years, a map of every step upon our way. Does it sound like I was her lover? I was not. She was my loyal and abiding friend, and I hers, though you wouldn't know it from watching us, unless you watched for a long time.  
  
We had time to talk, here, before she left me. She was old and tired, she said. She was ready to go. At one point she told me that she looked forward to no longer remembering the things that hurt inside, the memories she both cherished and was haunted by every day, even in her dreams at night more often than not. I don't think she meant to tell me that. But didn't we do it, Jason, she then smiled and laughed, weakly now. That was more like her, to look at the good things. Look at what we had done! Look at what you have done, I told her. He would have been proud of you. Maybe, she said, the familiar look of self-doubt clouding her smile. Maybe, in the end, her best would have been good enough for him, after all. A tear slid down her face, and I was sad that I had caused it. But she needed to hear it from someone before she was gone, that he would have approved. She still had faith, she said then, that mankind would not squander the gifts we had been entrusted with. I, Jason, still had time to tend it, to see it unfold. It had been set in motion. It would blossom. Time would tell. 


	2. Sometimes Work Sucks But We Love It

Author's Note: See Chapter 1 for disclaimer.  
  
* * * * * THE TALE OF MARIAN  
  
CHAPTER 2 - SOMETIMES WORK SUCKS (BUT WE LOVE IT)  
  
It began in earnest when Marian finally decided to take a vacation. Well, yes, I talked her into it, and, yes, I might have (very subtly, I might add) steered her in a certain general direction, but it had been her decision to go. More or less.  
  
For years I had been trying to convince her to quit and open up her own office, with me as a partner. Of course, she never took me seriously. It became more of a game, an idea to toy with during those times when things went wrong, our boss Ed was upset, or we were frustrated out of our minds. Then one of us would announce to the room in general, making sure Ed was nowhere around at the time, that WE WERE GOING TO QUIT! Of course, after the third or fourth time no one believed us and some of the melodrama was lost, but it was always good for a superb bitch session that would clear the air and release the collective tension of us all for at least a day or two. It was a miracle that we didn't get fired. Marian and I would decide where to put our office, which clients to steal, what our guiding principles would be. We made up names for our company, and whose name would go first. (I still think mine would have sounded better going first.) We argued about what color the carpet would be and whose desk would get the window. Very few of us had windows. Not enough windows, in an architecture office, mind you. When we weren't threatening to quit, we made plans for midnight raids with saws-alls to cut skylights in the roof. But, since Ed was only renting the building, we restrained ourselves. If he had owned it we would have gladly torn it apart for him when he wasn't looking. He may even have enjoyed it. When we were threatening to quit, we complained bitterly about what we did for a living and how underpaid, underappreciated and misunderstood our noble profession was.  
  
The sad facts were: 1. We fiercely loved what we did for a living; 2. We knew we could do it our way, true to our own philosophy, if we went out and did it on our own; 3. We were too chicken to go out and do it on our own.  
  
Then one day after a particularly grueling all-night work session, Marian declared (again) that she was going to quit. This time, I think she might have been serious. So I talked her into going on a vacation instead, to sort things out. No matter that I had been planting the seeds of this particular vacation idea in her head for quite some time (I am patient as well as subtle). Quitting would have served the purpose too, but I thought she needed more time. I know I'm being obscure, but you'll see soon enough what I mean.  
  
I remember that night. We sat for the third evening in a row, Marian strumming her fingernails on her drafting table and staring at her screensaver, the smell of Sharpie pens and Pantone markers hovering over her cubicle and drifting over into mine like a headache just waiting to happen.  
  
Strumm. . . Strumm. . . . . . . . . . Strumm.  
  
"Please, just stop it!" I blurted out. We were both a little testy by this time.  
  
I straightened up from my computer and gave her a long-suffering look. She was staring at her screensaver. Redwoods misty in the rain, pearly drops of water dripping from wet-gleaming ferns in the foreground.  
  
"Bite me, Jason," she said absentmindedly. She sighed and tore off another piece of tracing paper. I came over to look over her shoulder as she quickly sketched the meeting room of our library project on the other side of the grand entrance, rotating it so that the entrance doors angled nicely to the courtyard. I thought it had promise.  
  
"Shit!"  
  
Well, maybe not.  
  
"Damn it! Now the whole relationship of the workroom to the stacks is screwed up again. Wait a minute, didn't we just try this a couple of hours ago?"  
  
She looked longingly back at the screensaver, and I followed her gaze. Shafts of morning sunlight piercing the fog through the forest branches, the air dense, heavy, mysterious. A magic moment, when anything seemed possible.  
  
"Where?" I challenged.  
  
"Where what?" she growled back, crumpling the tracing paper and tossing it over my shoulder toward the trash. Missing again.  
  
I leaned over and back to grab the trace, arching it into the trash can and pivoting myself up rather too close behind her. She was looking over her shoulder at me with a rather puzzled look on her face.  
  
"Where shall I bite you, seeing as how you have finally succumbed to my many charms?" I purred and caressed her neck with my breath. I swear she gave a barely perceptible shiver. I have been told I am difficult to resist. I know this is true. I have also been told I am a smug, self- centered, self-admiring skirt chaser. Usually it is Marian who calls me this, and much worse.  
  
She finished turning around (difficult to do, considering how close I was standing to her) and looked up at me. I gave her my most devastating drown- in-my-deep-blue-eyes look.  
  
"What, and go where all women have gone before?" She looked more closely. "Do you realize that your eyes are more bloodshot than mine are?"  
  
"Well, they wouldn't be if the fumes from your little color crayons were not gagging me. Why don't you ever do this on the computer, Marian, it would be so much easier?"  
  
"Because I am a dinosaur and I can't think on that thing, and you know it. When the concept works, I'll fine tune it on there, don't worry." Then she paused, her eyes twinkled, and her voice lowered: "What you are missing, lover, is the feeling of pen on paper, that. . . . . sensual mind/hand connection that your creative side craves. A computer cannot give you that pleasure, Jason."  
  
"Ah, Marian, do not try to beat me at my own game. I am the master. You will fail miserably, and for what? The computer responds to my every touch, my every command. I make it sing, I make it glow. I can make you glow too, my Marian. Why do you think I am here so late with you, year after year, night after night?"  
  
"Do NOT make me throw up, Jason," but she smiled in spite of herself. I tried to look hurt. "You are here for the same reason I am, because we have a design presentation tomorrow, we want to keep our jobs, and we want to figure this out and make it look bloody brilliant. Now shoo, go back to your computer and let's finish this before we fall asleep on our desks."  
  
Instead, of course, I leaned over her and looked at the multitude of overlaid, over-taped sketches on her desk.  
  
"This is a mess."  
  
"Thank you for stating the obvious," she said dryly. Then she squirmed. "Will you help me? I feel like I've almost got it, but I'm too tired to see it."  
  
"I am always at your beck and call, my dear, if only you could see my total devotion to you." Bowing, I turned to retrieve my chair, draw my chair up to her desk and sit.  
  
"I still say that you take ballet lessons in secret, Jason," she whispered, the puzzled look back on her face.  
  
I looked around swiftly as if someone might be eavesdropping. Fat chance, we were the ones with a looming deadline this night. "Do not ruin my reputation. If you will not surrender, I will have to turn to another beautiful woman to rain attention on, like Jennifer."  
  
"She's EIGHTEEN! She's impressionable! All you'd have to do is whisper a few endearments in her ear and she would fall head over heels with you. You can't be that cruel!"  
  
"Cruel! I have had no complaints, no tears. Only compliments and thank- you's. However, you know that I prefer more mature, more experienced women...or men," I shrugged.  
  
"Can we please concentrate on work for a few minutes?"  
  
"Fine, we will find the key that will unlock this puzzle, this inside- outside problem, then we will drink coffee and watch the sun rise together over Starbucks."  
  
"You will never make me drink coffee, any more than you will ever get me into bed."  
  
Yes, but you like me to try, I thought to myself. All women do. It makes them feel as beautiful as they all really are.  
  
"Drink diet cola then, if you must punish your body that way, and watch ME drink coffee in the sunrise."  
  
"See this mirror, Jason?" She showed me myself in her compact as she grimaced, no doubt over the sickening thought of cola in the morning.  
  
"Yes..."  
  
"You are such a BLOND."  
  
A tiny wave of homesickness came over me. I hope it didn't show in my face, but Marian could read me a little too well. "Where I come from everyone is blond," I said proudly, sticking my chin in the air.  
  
"Jason, your MOTHER isn't even blond."  
  
"Well," I said, waving my arms for emphasis, "everyone besides my mother is blond."  
  
"Remind me to tell her how sorry I am next time she visits you." 


	3. Chapter 3: First, Do No Harm

Author's Note: See Chapter 1 for disclaimer.  
  
A/N: Please hang in there with me on this chapter. There will be elves, soon. Some you will recognize, and some you may not..yet.  
  
* * * * * THE TALE OF MARIAN  
  
CHAPTER 3 - FIRST, DO NO HARM  
  
The next day after work I coaxed Marian and Billie, our friend and fellow Ed-suffer-ee, into celebrating with a glass of wine at the Winesmith down the street. Don't think it sounds snobbish - we lived in California wine country, after all. No, not that wine country you are thinking about, but that better, I think, wine country in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada. Gold country makes for very, very good wines.  
  
We walked down Main Street and squeezed ourselves into a table in the tiny, cramped, noisy wine bar. I shared half a chair with Billie, as there were only two left. Billie raised her voice over the crowd, asking if our meeting had been a success. I said loudly that the clients had loved the design. Marian corrected me by saying that the client had loved it after they had picked it apart and moved everything around for two hours.  
  
"Minor interior revisions," I declared, waving my wine glass rather closely to the back of the balding gentleman sitting just behind me. I was glad that we actually had wine in our hands by that time, as the owners, a long- married couple, served both wine and good advice on tasting it and making it at their own rather maddeningly relaxed pace. It did no good to become impatient, you either accepted it or you went elsewhere. Marian looked concerned that I would spill my wine on this gentleman's head. Shame on her; I am not so clumsy, especially since it would take another half an hour to get another if I lost this one. Thankfully the people gathered around the next table were occupied in a rather boisterous and apparently highly amusing conversation and didn't notice.  
  
"Marian stood firm and maintained the integrity of her design, Billie."  
  
"Our design, Jason," she insisted, and I raised my glass in salute. "More importantly, Ed liked it, too."  
  
"After another hour of "minor revisions", that is," I added with a smile.  
  
"They were good revisions, Jason. I wish I had thought of them." Just like Marian, to be too modest. She never did give herself enough credit, for all that she accomplished.  
  
"The boss liked it," savored Billie. "Congratulations are in order. Now, wish me the same luck tomorrow for the middle school project."  
  
"You don't need luck, Billie," I said. "You've gotten a long way in the past couple of weeks. Ed will see that immediately. And," I tried to sound seductive, but it was kind of hard to do when I had to yell, "if he doesn't, you can always come to me for. . . . consolation."  
  
"I'm going to ignore that, Jason, and scoot over an inch before I dunk that ponytail of yours in your glass, this room isn't THAT crowded." Actually, in my defense, it was. "So what's next for you guys?"  
  
"Finishing the library drawings. Then I am going to start in on Ed's preliminary sketches for our new office building," I said importantly. That was a mistake.  
  
"I am going to quit," Marian said flatly, pouting into her wine glass.  
  
"What?" Billie said, and leaned across the table.  
  
"I AM GOING TO QUIT!" she yelled. Billie gasped, and suddenly the room went quiet.  
  
"Let's go talk about this outside," I suggested, and put my half-full glass down. Darn it, I was enjoying that wine.  
  
We tunneled out to the sidewalk while other standing patrons immediately jostled for our seats like a game of musical chairs, and Billie turned on Marian. "No. . . you. . . are. . . not. You are not leaving us here alone. Besides, the library is only half done, you have months to go on it, and it's your favorite project!"  
  
"She is tired. She has had too much wine. I will take her home," I declared wisely.  
  
"Twenty-three people is hardly leaving you alone, Billie."  
  
"If you leave some of us, I wonder who, will have to divide your workload, and I for one don't have time, girlfriend!" Billie accused, laying the guilt-trip on thick.  
  
Was I being ignored?  
  
Marian took in a deep breath and plunged in, describing how the library committee had finally decided to pursue an energy-conservation grant program that would evaluate the building and help pay for the energy-saving features the committee wanted us to incorporate. This program was, I knew, a way for Marian to get the office to take baby steps towards green building design, a philosophy that was dear to Marian's heart and to mine, but not to Ed's. Ed's rationale for allowing Marian to promote environmentally responsible design at all was that it appeared to be good marketing material. Marian had proposed this program to the committee when the project first started, but they had told her no. Now they had a new influential committee member who was pushing the program, so they had changed their minds.  
  
"Well," said Billie carefully, "who convinced them doesn't matter, does it, as long as they are going to do it?"  
  
"Here's what matters, Billie. Today after the meeting, Ed came over and asked me whether it was their idea or mine. Like an idiot, I told him I had made them aware of the program but the new guy had convinced them. I was excited, Billie. I was thrilled. Do you know what Ed said? He said he didn't want some analyst telling us how to design our building. He didn't want to spend any of our time and money dealing with them, and that I was complicating the project for no reason. He went ballistic on me, Billie! I mean, God forbid we should make the effort to create a better building!"  
  
I winced. "Be patient, Marian, he will come around in time." I put a reassuring arm around her shoulder and squeezed. "You WILL get to design "green buildings." Our own new office building could be the turning point. Stay, Marian, we'll convince Ed to try it."  
  
"So far, the only one I've been able to convince is my dog. What if we can't convince him? Then I'm back to square one and I am still churning out work that does damage to the environment when it doesn't need to do any. I want our buildings to work with nature, not against it. I want it to feel just as great to be inside a building as it is to be on the beach, or in the woods."  
  
"Then," I said with a mischievous look at Billie, "if Ed says no, we'll sneak in as much as we can anyway. Come on, let me take you home and we'll feel good because we're carpooling."  
  
"And how will I get my car back?"  
  
"You will come back downtown with me tomorrow morning and help me pick out a new backpack."  
  
"All right, it's a deal," she sighed wearily.  
  
"So it's a deal, you'll stay." Billie insisted. "Well," Billie modified when she saw the look on Marian's face, "You'll sleep on it over the weekend, then."  
  
"I don't think a weekend is going to make any difference, Billie."  
  
"You are tired right now," I reminded her. "You've been overworked for months. Why don't you go on a nice long vacation out on the beach or in the woods instead, somewhere you can get away and think it over first."  
  
Maybe that wasn't such a bad idea, she said then.  
  
* * * * *  
  
I have found a treasure.  
  
I found it under the mattress of the bed upon which she died. I didn't know that Marian kept a diary. I knew of course that she kept copious notes on everything she learned here - she was always so afraid she would forget something and then it would be too late - but I didn't know she wrote anything personal. If I had, this would probably have been the first place I would have looked for it. I should realize by now that no matter how close we were, there would be a few more things, the knowledge of which she kept from me. Don't misunderstand me; Marian deserved her privacy as much as anyone. It's just that some things would have been easier for her if I had known about them.  
  
I don't want to open it. Maybe there are things that are too intimate, or maybe she thought unflattering things about me that I'd rather not know about. No, Marian had never had any trouble telling me out loud exactly what she thought of me, good or bad. Maybe I am afraid to discover that I didn't know her as well as I thought I did, that my dear friend wasn't exactly the same person I thought I knew.  
  
But there are gaps in what I know about the tale I am telling you, like when Marian went on her vacation alone, gaps that need to be filled to tell the whole story. So, I will make a deal with her before I break the lock, a compromise that I know she would have agreed with. I will only use what I need, to tell what needs to be told, and keep the rest private like it was meant to be. Like Marian tried to do, I will do no harm - if I can find enough wisdom to help it. 


	4. Chapter 4: A Choice of Weapons

Author's Note: See Chapter 1 for disclaimer.  
  
* * * * * THE TALE OF MARIAN  
  
CHAPTER 4 - A CHOICE OF WEAPONS*  
  
20 August  
  
I have not written in a diary since I was in high school. Diaries  
seem so juvenile and trivial. Besides, who has the time? Days,  
weeks, months pass by so quickly now that time seems to carry me along  
like a runaway train. I worry sometimes that I will reach my final  
destination without knowing how I got there or why, or where I might  
have gone instead. Will I even notice which direction I am heading in,  
or recognize when I could or should have switched tracks?  
  
I don't believe in fate, exactly. I don't believe that I was meant  
from birth to be a relatively good architect with a wonderful husband  
and two terrific children. I don't believe it was pre-ordained that  
my husband should die at 5:30 pm on a particular Friday exactly six  
years ago yesterday in a stupid, needless rush-hour traffic accident,  
or that my particular train is rushing uncontrollably toward a  
specific date, time and place that I am going to die and that no  
matter what I do I can't change it's direction.  
  
What I do believe is that each one of us is uniquely special (though I  
look at some people and wonder why); that the choices that each of us  
make in life and the lessons we learn, no matter how small, are  
somehow immensely important. I believe there is a reason we're here  
on this earth, and that God has some huge universal plan, some pattern  
that includes us all. It's just way, way too big for any of us to  
see. Life is full of so many possibilities. We each make our own  
path and do the best we know how. Instead of screwing things up for  
each other and for those to come after us, we can do our best to make  
things better along the way.  
  
Looking in the mirror, I ask myself why I didn't have a midlife crisis  
at 40 like we are all supposed to. I think I was just too damn busy  
to indulge myself. Now, at 45 years old I don't look or feel too bad.  
Not hot, mind you, but not at all bad. Jason says I look 38 and I  
choose to believe him.  
  
I don't know what I want anymore, only that I want. I don't want to  
be famous, I just want, I suppose, to do something of value. I want  
to be valued. My dear husband is gone (how I miss his strong warm  
arms around me, sometimes so much I don't think I can bear it), my two  
daughters, grown. I have the house still, and the dog. I can make  
any choices I want to. I feel I am at a turning point, but I don't  
know which way to turn. What better place from which to begin again,  
I think, than by going home?  
  
I've managed three weeks, my entire vacation time for the year. I  
hope it's long enough. I'm glad Jason talked me out of quitting for  
now - I won't have the worries of looming unemployment to distract me.  
I am taking a journey of the soul, not just of the mind and body, and  
this will be my journal.  
  
* * * * *  
  
21 August  
  
The car is almost packed now, with what little I am taking. Jason is  
finishing for me, outside, with Bruno. Bruno was my kids' dog, before  
they left home, and I am stuck with him and his name, which fits him.  
He is a big, dumb, light brown brute of an Akita with a dark brown  
nose and ears, who looks for all the world like a big, sweet, cuddly  
teddy bear with a perpetual grin. He is sweet to me, but would just  
as soon bite someone else as drool at them. I keep him on a leash so  
he won't eat small children and animals. Jason is the only person he  
will tolerate being around me. Bruno and Jason have an understanding,  
some sort of silent wavelength that I am not privy to.  
  
Jason says that people go out into the wilderness for one of two  
reasons: to get away from other people for some peace and solitude;  
or to do unspeakable things that they can't do with other people  
around. He insists therefore that the dumb dog go with me. If I  
insist on being idiot enough to wander out in the woods by myself, he  
admonishes, at least Bruno will be there to protect me. I'm not  
thrilled with the idea of being dragged around by a big dog for three  
weeks, but it will be better than carrying a gun or a knife that could  
easily be used against me, since I'm no good with them. Most of my  
fellow architects are pacifists about this kind of thing, I have  
found. We build things, we don't break things.  
  
I look out the window at them and laugh. Jason is squatting down at  
Bruno's eye level and seems to be giving him last-minute instructions.  
Bruno is listening intently, his bear-ears perked up and his  
corkscrew tail wagging, grinning.  
  
I don't know what I would do without Jason. He came into the office  
not long after Kevin, my husband, died, and instantly started arguing  
with me. We enjoyed it so much I don't think we've stopped arguing  
since.  
  
Jason is a terribly sweet and thoughtful man, with a deep inner  
strength, assurance and intelligence that peeks through his veneer of  
shallow, narcissistic bullshit on occasion. I don't think he wants  
people to take him, or life, too seriously; that might ruin all the  
fun. He is also one of the most beautiful men I have ever met; not  
just handsome, but beautiful, like the chiseled features of a statue  
of a Greek god would be if it could. And, the only good-looking  
blond that I would ever trust. He is tall and lithe, with long,  
thick, shiny hair that I would kill for. There are very, very few men  
that look good with long hair, and even then I think it makes them  
look less than manly. But on Jason, it only serves to accentuate his  
sublime masculinity.  
  
I don't know why I'm not in love with him. Maybe he's too pretty.  
Maybe it's because he practically worships women, and women know it.  
He loves freedom, variety, and excitement. I am not exciting. I like  
stability, and I am very possessive. We complement each other  
perfectly in friendship - in romance we would be a disaster.  
  
Jason tries to convince me that I have him wrapped around my little  
finger, but I know that it is the other way around. Take this  
vacation, for example. I went into the sporting goods store with  
Jason to help him pick out a daypack. How I came out instead with a  
top-of-the-line frameless backpack, teeny-tiny backwoods stove, water  
tablets, dehydrated food, a dog pack, and a compass/cellphone/GSP  
thing-a-majig with a 1/2" thick instruction booklet that I will never  
read or hope to understand, and that blew half of my credit card  
balance, I will never know. Luckily I had a sleeping bag, boots, and  
other necessities, or I would be completely broke. I am now ready to  
embark upon a three-week hiking trip that I hadn't even planned on. I  
am not easily manipulated - he is the only one who can mess with me  
like this and get away with it.  
  
* * * * *  
  
I stood up with relief as Marian came down the steps and onto the gravel driveway, carrying another roll of toilet paper and snatching a grape from a tightly packed blue cluster on one of the heavily laden vines that marched up the hill above the house and popping it in her mouth.  
  
Finally! I almost let myself think for a moment that Marian was about to change her mind about going, she was in the house for so long. But I shouldn't have worried - once Marian had set her mind to something there was no stopping her. She was no lightning bolt, but she was single-minded and persistent, like the ocean beating the rocks into sand on the shore. She could drive you crazy.  
  
"Jason, are you sure you'll call and remind Frank to come check on these soon? They might be ready before I get back ."  
  
"Don't worry Marian, I'll call him. You know Frank won't let a windfall of free Zinfandel go to waste."  
  
"Just as long as we get a free case of it next year. Thank you Jason, I don't know why you bother with me." She looked me up and down wistfully. "I'm going to miss you. Come here and give me a big hug - but watch where you put those hands."  
  
I gave Marian a big bear hug, lifting her off her feet and twirling her around in circles, my hands in very respectful places. I can behave when I want to, which isn't often. The sound of her laughter echoing off the hot, dry hills made me turn rather protective all of a sudden. But that didn't keep me from pinching her derriere when I set her down.  
  
"And where, exactly, are you going to fit that in?" I asked her in mock disbelief, staring first at her crammed backpack and then at the additional toilet paper.  
  
"This," she claimed, waving it in my face, "is a symbol of civilization and the one comfort of home I will not, repeat not, run out of. I will fit it in if I have to leave food and clothing behind."  
  
"How about leaving the bottle of wine instead," I teased. "It must weigh at least two pounds."  
  
"You've been snooping in my pack again," she accused, and got in the car. I led Bruno around to where she had spread towels on the back seat. Not being used to such a treat, he promptly jumped in, taking up most of the back of the car, sniffing and drooling, then scrambled into the front and laid down, planting his front paws and head directly in front of the wheel in Marian's face. I grabbed his leash and directed him into the back seat again, telling him to stay. He stayed, for the moment.  
  
Marian looked at me accusingly again, and lectured me in no uncertain terms that her car would never be the same again. If I heard that she had run off the road in a single car accident, I would know why; if there were any "accidents" inside her car, she would bag them and mail them to me. I told her that I couldn't help it if she didn't know how to train a dog. She breathed in deeply and opened her mouth again, but before she could launch into the argument properly, I took my ring off and closed her hand around it, leaving her with her mouth still open, but no words coming out. Ha!  
  
"I hope this isn't a proposal," she finally managed, staring at the silvery object in her hand. It had been passed down to me from my grandmother. It was at once strong yet delicate, a wide band of intertwining leaves and flowers, with tiny gems at the centers of the petals. Marian knew it was a treasured possession.  
  
I groaned. "It's a loan, for good luck. Think of it as. . . . an amulet of sorts. Have fun but be alert, Marian, at least until you get three or four days up into the forest. Then you'll be fine."  
  
"I WILL be fine, Jason, and thank you, I'll take good care of it," she said, placing it on the chain around her neck and looking at me like she was humoring me. "Keep Ed in line for me. Au revoir."  
  
"Until we meet again," I repeated.  
  
". . . . . .in three weeks!" she called out, waving as she left.  
  
"Maybe, my Marian," I whispered.  
  
So, off she coasted out of the gravel driveway, curling up the hill, the dust in her wake stained pink with the sunrise, and a big dog climbing into the front seat - headed for the Pacific, headed home to the redwoods. That screensaver I had given her for her birthday had paid off nicely, I thought.  
  
* * * * *  
  
*A CHOICE OF WEAPONS, a poem by Stanley Kunitz 


	5. Ch 5: Sea Surface Full of Clouds

See Chapter 1 for disclaimer.  
  
THE TALE OF MARIAN  
  
Chapter 5: Sea Surface Full of Clouds  
  
22 August  
  
It was a long drive, ten hours at least with numerous stops, and I am  
very tired. There were no dog accidents in the car, so I have nothing  
of any interest to mail to Jason today.  
  
Bruno and I have settled in at a campground on the beach. I had  
intended on staying at a motel, but I am learning that motels that  
will take really bid dogs are hard to come by. Perhaps if Bruno had  
been a Pekingese we would have fared better. As it is, we will both  
be getting rather dirty 24 hours before it would have been inevitable.  
I am sure that within a few days I will recall a campground with  
showers and toilets as a lost luxury.  
  
I did not pack a real tent, only a ground cloth that will serve in  
case of rain. So, I reverted to an old and cherished childhood  
practice. I searched out a large log of driftwood high up on the  
beach, out of reach of the high tide that will come sometime in the  
night. With Bruno's "help", I hollowed out a nice depression in the  
sand behind it, on the land-side, that will protect us from wind but  
not from the coming dampness. A small fire crackles a few feet away.  
The sand is still somewhat warm from the sun, unlike the air, which  
has become clammy and cold as the sun sinks lower. At least it is not  
too windy tonight; I am not fond of blowing sand, especially when it  
gets between my teeth and in my eyes. For all the time that I lived  
near the beach as a child, my parents and I never once camped on it at  
night. We had bonfires on the beach, fireworks on the beach with  
coats and blankets, but we went home afterwards, where it was warm.  
Camping on the beach all night was left for tourists who wanted the  
unique experience of getting soggy and chilled to the bone.  
  
I wandered down the beach with Bruno to make up for keeping him on a  
leash, barefoot and luxuriating in the feel of wet sand shifting  
between my toes. He refused to step into the surf like I did. He is  
no water dog, so I stayed in the uppermost cold foam edges of the  
waves as they rhythmically advanced and receded. We have climbed up  
onto a large rock formation that juts out into the water, a suitable  
vantage point from which to wait for the sunset. The sun is cold now,  
glaring off the water so that I have to squint to write, approaching  
the clouds; big fluffy ones hovering near the horizon. It should be a  
good sunset. Bruno eyes the surf warily, but with fascination. It is  
near low tide, and the sea is relatively calm. As I wait, the  
constant movement and thrumming sounds of the surf envelop me. This  
familiar deep, hypnotic, steady vibration, like a giant heartbeat, has  
comforted me throughout my childhood and many times since. One hardly  
notices this constant companion to those who live by the sea until one  
moves away and suddenly finds it missing. Closing my eyes, I feel the  
strain of the past weeks and months begin to fade away, breaking up in  
the presence of this ever-moving, ever-changing life force, the  
Pacific. It, and the expanse of sky above, make my personal inner  
struggles seem simpler, clearer. I have buried the true extent of the  
aching loneliness I have felt since Kevin died and it comes to me  
fully now; yet as it does, it is eased for the first time. With the  
vastness of a universe almost close enough to reach out and grasp, my  
heart reaches out to meet it.  
  
The sun has dipped behind the clouds now, sending vivid shafts of  
light down through the gaps between them to glitter like diamonds on  
the gray-green, shifting surface, tinting the underside of the clouds  
and the backs of the soaring gulls a golden-red, the sky intense  
amethyst, aquamarine and turquoise, like a Raphaelite painting in  
motion. As the now-red sun dips below the horizon, the sky fades to  
darker blues and purples, and it is becoming too dark to write. Bruno  
is restless. We must make our way back before it is too dark to see.  
There will be stars tonight; I see Venus already, glowing yellow low  
in the southwest.  
  
* * * * *  
  
23 August  
  
It is morning, and the sea lions are barking somewhere unseen  
offshore. An obscuring bank of fog moved in during the night, and the  
air is dense, wet and gray. The foghorn that lulled me to sleep last  
night can still be heard, muffled and distant. A far cry from the hot  
and dry summer days I have become used to in the foothills, but this  
is the weather I grew up with. I know in a few days I will be  
comfortable with it again.  
  
Today I will drive up the coast a few more hours, first on paving,  
then on a gravel road, to the trailhead I have chosen for its  
remoteness and seclusion as much as for its beauty. I will be going  
much, much further than I have ever ventured before.  
  
* * * * *  
  
24 August  
  
I did not write last night; a combination of exhaustion from hiking  
uphill all day, and misjudging how quickly darkness comes in the  
forest. I have done better tonight, stopping in the late afternoon to  
seek out a good place to camp.  
  
Yesterday I located the trailhead with some difficulty, finding only a  
few cars but no people in sight, and the requisite garbage. It is  
beyond me why people who go to this much trouble to see nature can go  
to so little trouble to clean up after themselves. At least this  
vulgar reminder of "civilization" did not extend far beyond view of  
the automobiles.  
  
We headed east and immediately upward from the ocean into the  
redwoods, one of the only places I have seen this forest reach nearly  
to the sand. In his excitement, Bruno pulled me a fair distance up  
the first hill by his leash, not an altogether unwelcome experience  
with fifty extra pounds on my back. He looked at me in obvious  
resentment when I strapped his new saddlebags on his back, but I told  
him that if he wanted to eat, he was going to have to carry his own  
food. By now he seems to have resigned himself to it, although I  
think the faint yet constant scent of dog food is getting on his  
nerves.  
  
The transition from beach to forest was magical. The sounds and  
smells of the ocean faded slowly as we moved inland under the trees,  
muffled by the soft carpet of needles and vegetation underfoot and the  
tall sentinels of trees all around us, hung with moss. Except for the  
occasional call of crows or bluejays and the sigh of the breeze in the  
canopy above, silence reigns. The trail has been clear and well-  
marked so far, so I have had little need of my maps and fancy compass  
other than to locate a few landmarks and check our progress. We wound  
among sword ferns reaching taller than my head, climbing over or  
around the occasional deadfall.  
  
How can I describe this forest? Each type of forest has its own  
feeling, its own personality that one can't experience without walking  
in it. The redwood forest is unlike any other I have ever walked in.  
The trees are giants, some over twelve feet in diameter. This is a  
virgin forest; it has never been logged, and is protected from  
industry. It is old; the largest of these trees date back to when we  
count the years forward instead of backward; older than Christ. They  
are the tallest trees in the world, many as tall as a 20 story  
skyscraper or taller. The thick, soft, fibrous red-brown bark runs in  
almost vertical ridges up the trunks to the needled canopy far above;  
looking closer, you can see that the ribbons of bark wind around the  
trunks slightly as they ascend, rather like a peppermint stick. On  
every tree it winds in the same direction; a result, I have read, of  
the rotation of the earth. The older trees have few lower branches,  
waiting to spread them up higher where the sunlight is more plentiful.  
Only occasional shafts of sunlight dapple the forest floor, creating  
light and shade accents on the dense, lush undergrowth among the  
gentle, diffuse luminosity that prevails.  
  
Yet facts do not describe this forest. I confess that I feel a living  
presence in the redwoods like in no other, almost a consciousness -  
old, wise, and patient. I suspect that if I stop quickly and just  
listen, catching it off guard, I might hear it speak. Yet, when I do  
stop I imagine it withdrawing, hovering somewhere just outside of my  
hearing range in amusement, playing with me but not giving me much  
mind, like a movement just outside the corner of your eye that when  
you turn your head, disappears. I have heard of discoveries of acres  
of plants that seem to be separate but in reality are connected  
underground like one huge organism, with a complex nerve-like network.  
I know from long-ago botany classes that these trees are not joined in  
this way, but it feels as though they communicate. It is not an  
ominous or threatening feeling, like in the old European folk tales  
where all forests are dark and dangerous, with Hansel and Gretel  
witches and other, darker evils lurking deep inside, like the trees  
that come alive in the Wizard of Oz. It feels powerful, but benign  
and rather comforting. I'm sure if people read this they would think  
me daft.  
  
* * * * *  
  
26 August  
  
Again I have missed a day writing. I came across a small family  
hiking, father, mother and a young son, probably 11 or so, and we  
walked quite a long way together yesterday, and shared a camp last  
night. I considered opening the wine, but I will save it for a  
special occasion, like deciding what I am going to do with my life.  
Bruno barked and growled at them at first, but then settled down. I  
told the boy, Adam, not to pet him. This is hard for a boy, I know,  
not to hug a big teddy-bear of a dog, but I don't trust the teddy bear  
with him.  
  
I am still sore all over from hiking, but so much stronger every day  
that it is rather exhilarating. I feel fitter than I have in years. I  
am actually sorer and stiffer from sleeping on the ground, which I  
must reluctantly attribute to middle age. So, I decided last night to  
try a new sleeping arrangement, which fascinated Adam. It did not  
take me long to find what I was looking for, a tree that had been  
struck by lighting at some point in the distant past so that a large  
opening had been burned out of its base. The tree still lived, the  
outer bark and wood being intact, and had closed around the opening  
above, leaving a space like a small room inside. The "floor" of the  
room was lower than the ground outside, so sleeping on the ground  
inside would not be wise in case of rain. I checked for spiders or  
burrows with my flashlight and with Bruno. Finding none, I shook out  
my travel hammock and strung it between four hooks that I screwed into  
the inside of the tree a foot from the ground higher than Bruno could  
climb (Bruno does not jump, he's too heavy and too much of a woosie).  
Adam commandeered this new toy for most of the evening before he was  
called to his own sleeping bag by his parents. After sleeping quite  
comfortably last night, I have decided I like this arrangement, me in  
my bag on the hammock, and Bruno below. Not quite as warm, but  
definitely softer than the ground.  
  
Today the family and I parted at a fork in the trail. They took the  
clearer path to the east, while we turned north along a much fainter  
path. It was time to pull out the compass/cellphone/GPS thing-a-majig  
and get serious. That was not the greatest time to discover that the  
GPS didn't work in the tall trees. I would have to wait for a  
clearing or meadow. So, I counted my steps all day and used the  
compass. I am not good at this; I hope I don't get us lost.  
  
We should have crossed a small creek today, but haven't found it. It  
continues to get warmer the higher in elevation we go. I smell of  
sweat and dog, and am dying for some kind of a bath and a refill for  
my canteen. Then again, it is clouding up and looks like it might  
rain tonight. I am stringing my groundcloth from the trees just in  
case I can catch some water this way.  
  
I saw no other people today, only birds, a few squirrels (which Bruno  
chased), and a deer that we surprised on the trail (which the dumb dog  
chased). I hope we don't come across a bear, which Akita's were bred  
to chase. I don't want to chase a bear.  
  
* * * * *  
  
27 August  
  
A strange thing happened last night. I found another tree-shelter,  
this time a fairie-ring that had grown tightly together up above. The  
original tree had fallen long ago, hundreds of years ago from the size  
of the trees that had sprung up in a circle from the roots surrounding  
the trunk, leaving an opening in the middle. Late at night I awoke to  
Bruno nervously pacing below my hammock, barking and growling low in  
his throat. It was pouring rain, and there was a chokingly strong,  
foul smell in the air. I froze, trying not to make any noise, my  
breath caught in my throat as much from the stench as from fear. If  
Bruno did not scare away whatever was out there, we would be trapped.  
Bruno's barks rose to a fever pitch, but he did not venture out of the  
ring. I could hear no other noise than the rain, and it was too pitch  
black to see. I dared not use the flashlight. But then Bruno stopped  
barking and the smell became fainter. I climbed down to pet him, and  
the poor thing was shaking as much as I was. I am beginning to  
appreciate his loyalty, and I told him so, talking softly in his ear  
to calm him down. He snorted at me and laid back down to sleep.  
  
I have never believed in Sasquatch, but I wonder. We are far back in  
the forest now, and this is Bigfoot country. I didn't get much sleep  
the rest of last night, jumping at every sound.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Nothing to write about for the last few days. No more rain, no more  
people, no more barking in the middle of the night, and no new  
insights into my work/life dilemmas. If I want to get back to work on  
time I will have to turn around soon. The trail has all but  
disappeared. I can't find the creek that is shown on the map. I  
can't find a clearing in the trees large enough for the GPS to work,  
or for me to find landmarks for orientation. I have also lost count  
of my steps several times today. I am starting to feel lost, but I am  
not worried, yet. I still have a little water for us both.  
  
I let Bruno off the leash today and he bounded away, but I heard him  
now and again, crashing through the ferns. I think he was chasing  
rabbits.  
  
The air smells fresh and clean. I felt compelled, and still do, to  
continue rather than go back. I don't know why, but for once I will  
trust my instincts like Jason always tells me to do. I miss him. I  
tried to continue north, but there always seemed to be some obstacle  
that made me veer west; some gully, downed tree, or outcrop of rocks.  
Fine! I yelled to noone at one point, I'll go west! My voice did not  
carry far, but was soaked up quickly in the thick, soft vegetation all  
around me. So much for yelling for help.  
  
* * * * *  
  
31 August  
  
I cannot believe our luck, or perhaps it was Bruno's nose. We have  
found not a tiny creek, but an honest-to-goodness swimming hole, large  
and deep and hidden beneath the trees, with great flat rocks suspended  
above it, perfect for diving from. The water springs from beneath a  
rock formation a few hundred feet upstream, but I can't find it  
continuing anywhere below the pool. It must go underground again, I  
think.  
  
This pool does not appear anywhere on my maps, so I am still not sure  
of our location. I don't care at the moment. I just want to get  
clean.  
  
Still 31 August  
  
I have to write this now, right now, to sort it out in my head, or I  
will not believe it myself by tomorrow morning.  
  
We had passed no one in almost a week, so I threw caution to the wind  
and stripped. I had not been skinny-dipping in years and the cool,  
unbelievably clear water felt wonderfully sensuous slipping over my  
body. After drinking deeply, Bruno disappeared into the woods again.  
He must have known I was thinking of throwing him in as well. After  
diving and swimming in the water and washing my clothing, my utensils  
and myself, I laid them all out in the small patches of sunlight on  
the rocks to dry and climbed up on a huge, flat rock hanging over the  
pool to do the same thing to myself. I laid down on my stomach and  
hung my head over the edge, peering deep into the pool at a small  
school of fish darting in and out of the shadows. It was after I  
turned over, laying on my back and looking up into the trees, musing  
that not even a helicopter would be able to see the pool through these  
intertwined branches, that I noticed it.  
  
I could see small portions of the sky through the lacy green canopy  
high above, clear, blue sky with small white clouds lazily drifting by  
in a breeze that I could not feel here below. It slowly dawned on me  
that something didn't look right. I had been trained for years to  
recognize patterns, create patterns, and something was wrong with the  
pattern of leaves, branches, sky and clouds that I was seeing above,  
but what? Some minor detail, some small thing that didn't fit. I  
kept looking at the canopy of one particular, gigantic redwood, and  
patiently waited for my head to sort it out.  
  
There it was! A small piece of cloud that was not moving with the  
rest but was stationary, between the branches of that one tree near  
the pool's edge. I got up and threw some still-damp clothes on -  
stretch hiking pants, shoes and a tank top - and went over to stand  
below the tree. Leaning against the bark with my hands to steady me,  
I looked up again, way up. How very odd. It had disappeared.  
Suddenly I noticed that one of my hands was resting on a very thin  
cord or rope, nearly invisible against the texture and color of the  
bark. Like the person in a horror movie who you know shouldn't open  
that door and go into that room but does anyway, I grasped the rope by  
a loop that was about at my head height, and pulled it away from the  
tree. The end of the rope came free from near the base of the tree,  
where there was another loop. The whole thing now hung several feet  
away from the trunk. Funny, they looked like the loops we used to put  
in swinging ropes when I was a kid. Maybe this one would swing over  
the pool. I put one foot into the lower loop, and one wrist through  
the upper one. I tugged on it a little. It seemed sturdy enough. Why  
not? I told myself, and kicked off to have a swing.  
  
At once I found myself hanging on for dear life as I hurtled up along  
the side of the trunk, higher and higher and higher, swinging  
alarmingly back and forth. I believe I screamed continuously. It  
just kept going and going. In the same seeming slow motion that one's  
mind imposes on itself when one thinks one is going to die, I saw a  
log-like object pass me on its speedy way down, tied to a thin cord.  
A counterweight! I commanded my eyes, the only part of me that was  
not frozen in terror, to look up. I was going to be pulled all the  
way up into the branches!  
  
Up into the branches it carried me, my wild ascent finally slowing as  
I popped through a hole in, of all things, a large platform. Then the  
rope went slack. Just as it started down again, I had enough presence  
of mind left to step over onto the platform, still clinging to the  
rope for fear I would lose it and be stuck up there indefinitely.  
That was when I noticed a hook on the edge of the platform, which I  
wrapped the foothold around. I did not want to make a downward trip  
like my upward one right away. As long as I was up here, I decided I  
might as well look around. I certainly wasn't going to repeat the  
trip a second time.  
  
I admit that I got down on all fours and crawled. My legs were too  
shaky to stand, and I found I had little sense of balance in these  
surroundings. Lying on my stomach, I inched forward to the edge of  
the platform, which was perfectly flat and level, quite wide and a  
dark red-brown like the tree bark, made from the same wood I imagined.  
The view downward scared the hell out of me - I must have been two  
hundred feet in the air. The pool and its immediate surroundings were  
clearly visible far below. My head swimming from vertigo, I shrank  
back from the edge and sat up, looking outward. All around, I could  
see over many of the trees, off into the distance. I wished I had my  
GSP now. How many people ever had this view in their life, looking  
through the soft needled branches of tree after tree, butterflies  
flitting among them. Well, at least someone had, that was obvious. I  
turned back onto my stomach and inched over the edge again to where I  
could just see the underside of the platform. It had been very  
cleverly painted to resemble branches and sky. I moved my head back  
and forth, and the image seemed to change as if by magic. Very clever  
indeed, I wondered how they had managed it. I had never seen anything  
like it before. I slipped back into the middle of the platform again,  
my heart still racing, and examined the way the rope was wound over a  
glass-smooth groove in a huge branch, and descended back down to the  
ground. You wouldn't see the rope unless you were looking for it, for  
its slimness and color. Someone had gone to incredible lengths to  
build and camouflage this aerie high in the trees. But why? There  
were no clues to be found, no objects left upon the platform. Yet, it  
looked cared for, with no cobwebs or debris. The rope itself was not  
worn. I started to get a really funny feeling about this, and decided  
to get out of there.  
  
This was more easily said than done. Logic told me that if this  
contraption had gotten me up safely, it would get me down safely as  
well. It was clear enough that someone had gone down in order to tie  
off the rope that I discovered below, and they weren't lying dead at  
the bottom, now were they? But logic didn't help the fact that I was  
almost paralyzed with fear about jumping into that sling again. There  
was a reason that I had never gone skydiving, called self-  
preservation, and this looked a lot like skydiving to me. I told  
myself that I would starve sooner or later if I didn't go down, and it  
wasn't like anyone was going to climb up and get me. Scooting over to  
the edge of the hole I unhooked the rope, took about thirty deep  
breaths (procrastinating), took about twenty more, and slid off the  
edge.  
  
I think I screamed all the way down as well. When I got to the  
bottom, I forgot to hook the rope to the tree again as I stepped out  
of it. The rope flew upwards again, the counterweight dropping toward  
the ground at an alarming speed. Afraid that it was going to land on  
me, I looked back down just in time to see Bruno standing right in the  
line of fire, looking at me curiously. Dumb, dumb dog! I lunged at  
him and rolled him away from the base of the tree, the log crashing to  
the ground behind us. Bruno yelped in protest and squirmed roughly  
away from me. Still lying on the ground panting and shielding my head  
with my arms, I waited for the rope to come whipping down. Not  
hearing it, I rolled over, leaves and moss and dog hair clinging all  
over me, and slowly moved my arms away from my eyes to see if the rope  
was still lodged up above.  
  
Instead, I found the angry face of a stranger looming directly over  
me.  
  
*Sea Surface Full of Clouds, a poem by Wallace Stevens. 


	6. Ch 6: Somewhere I Have Never Traveled

See Chapter 1 for disclaimer.  
  
THE TALE OF MARIAN  
  
Chapter 6: Somewhere I have Never Traveled  
  
The stranger grabbed me and roughly pulled me to my feet, which I  
didn't appreciate for three reasons: He scared me, I was stiff and  
sore, and I do not take kindly to being manhandled. Besides, I had  
already had enough surprises for one day. I was on overload. As he  
loosened his rather rude grasp I yanked myself free, trying to decide  
whether I should be afraid or just plain pissed off, stepped back, and  
looked up at him. And up. He was tall, luminous, beautiful, and  
terrible, like an avenging angel, or a wrathful being from a Celtic  
legend. He stood erect and indignant, and in no uncertain terms he  
told me that no one was allowed to enter the Linluin. Actually he  
said something like "None save but by the grace of the Lord may have  
leave to set foot in the Linluin." That was fine with me, whatever  
the Linluin was. I was just relieved he hadn't killed me or attacked  
me ,yet. I decided to cross "axe murderer" and "serial rapist" off of  
my list, at least for the moment, although "brainwashed religious cult  
member" or "psychotic environmental terrorist" popped into my head as  
dangerous possibilities. It was something about his eyes that made me  
relax my guard a little, which despite flashing with outrage, were  
clear and deep. He had the oldest eyes I had ever seen, made older  
still by contrast to his youthful face and form. I regained my voice  
enough to demand who the hell was he and what did he think he was  
doing, and to call out for Bruno. Where had that dumb animal gone,  
right when I needed him?  
  
He looked me up and down accusingly, took a deep breath, and said to  
me, in the same terse, long-suffering voice that I used to invoke when  
my children, at a young age, had committed a serious transgression,  
that I, a mere mortal, had washed myself with SOAP in the sacred  
Linluin, and if that was not damaging enough, I had just ruined a  
perfectly good flet ladder, and did I not have any idea what serious  
trouble I was now in. The Lord would have to be informed, and the  
damage repaired. I must come with him and face judgement.  
  
While he ranted and raved at me, I took the opportunity to look him up  
and down in return, and decided that "brainwashed religious cult  
member" was close to the mark, but didn't do him full justice. He was  
dressed in tights, for God's sake! A leather belt with an intricately  
worked metal buckle and knife sheaths (with knives in them) sticking  
out of both sides were peeking out from behind a cloak or robe of  
rough but richly woven fabric whose color shifted from dark green to  
red-brown as he moved, blending almost invisibly with the surrounding  
forest. This was either his natural garb, he wore it so well, or a  
heck of a find from a really upscale renaissance faire. He looked  
such a part of the forest, if I hadn't been so scared I'd have had  
half a mind see if he had leaves growing out of his ears. But his  
long, thick hair hung down all around his face. . . and he was  
blond. It figured. Bleached blond, by the look of his dark eyebrows.  
  
JUDGEMENT? MORTAL? Summoning all of the self-righteous sarcasm I  
could muster, the pissed off part of me won out. Look, Robin Hood, or  
whatever your name is, I said. I told him I didn't care who his  
"Lord" was, this was part of a national park, not his personal  
property, I hadn't seen any "keep out" signs posted around the SACRED  
POND, how dare he watch me bathe, and what gave him the right to build  
a fort in an old-growth redwood tree anyway, AND, by the way, he was  
not under any circumstances to touch me again, and he could back off  
and leave right now.  
  
I didn't catch the subtle signal he must have given, but before I  
could blink, there were two more of them surrounding me, all tall,  
slender, tight-wearing, long-haired blonds, all pointing arrows at me  
inches from my face, not smiling. Yes, arrows. Real ones. I had  
landed in some kind of Swedish nutcookie version of hell. It must  
have been the self-righteous smirks on their faces that made me dig my  
heels in. (I turn stubborn at the worst times, it's a character flaw;  
either that or a coping mechanism against dropping to me knees and  
begging for mercy.) And then to top it off, there was Bruno,  
finally, standing there with them and wagging his tail. Thanks for  
nothing, Bruno, I spat at him. He grinned at me and drooled. The  
traitor. His name is not my fault, I told Robin Hood, crossing my  
arms while he looked at me with raised eyebrows. I proceeded to stare  
him down. God, his eyes were gorgeous. I couldn't handle it. Ok, I  
was sorry, I said and dropped my eyes to look at my feet. The arrows  
dropped, too.  
  
Things might have gone differently except that one of the merry men  
(or women, it was hard to tell, they were all drop-dead stinking  
perfect) spotted something on the ground which he (she?) picked up and  
gave to Robin Hood, speaking to him in a low but urgent tone in a  
language I couldn't place. I gasped and my hand went to my throat.  
It was Jason's ring! The chain must have fallen off my neck when I  
went reverse skydiving up the tree. The arrows went up again.  
  
Robin Hood's eyes turn steely hard and he stepped forward to tower  
over me once more, dangling Jason's ring in my face. When I reached  
out to take it he moved it just out of my grasp. Where did I come by  
this trinket, he demanded darkly, and was it mine? His manner  
convinced met that it might be wise to tell the truth. It was not a  
trinket, I emphasized, it was a family heirloom of great value and  
belonged to a dear friend. And where was this friend, he asked, his  
eyes never leaving mine so that I felt he might already read the truth  
in my face. Looking at him squarely, I replied that my friend was at  
home and that his ring had been loaned to me for good luck; I was  
entrusted with it and it was my duty to return it safely to him. What  
was my friend's name, he pressed. Jason, I said testily, and what,  
while we were at it, was his?  
  
He glanced at the others and the arrows dropped again. Then he turned  
away from me and to my great irritation put the ring and chain  
somewhere inside his cloak. Looking out over the not-swimming hole,  
he said he wondered if this was the way I usually cared for valuables  
that were in my charge. I felt my face grow hot, but before I could  
demand the ring back he turned toward me again and spoke. His name  
was Lindir, and he was warden of Methentaurond, which they called this  
place. His fellow wardens were Orodren and Gladrel. I was Marian, I  
said, and could I please have Jason's ring back. Now, so I could be  
on my way.  
  
Lindir stared at me for a few moments, but didn't move to return the  
ring. They had been expecting me, he said finally with a nod, and  
turned away from me again to speak to Orodren, who placed his hand  
over his heart as if in salute, and left. I watched his form quickly  
disappear into the trees, all fluid, elegant movement, then I turned  
purposefully to Lindir again. Arrows or not, I was getting tired of  
being manipulated.  
  
Lindir continued to walk away from me, his other companion still  
behind me. It was obvious that he expected me to follow him. I  
didn't feel like obliging him. I stood my ground and demanded some  
answers, like what was with the arrows and where were we. He turned  
and regarded me coolly. Again, he didn't answer me directly, but told  
me that we would move but a little farther from the Linluin and camp  
for the night. I hadn't realized how late it was, and I was suddenly  
very tired and hungry, and he still had Jason's ring, the rat. I  
supposed it wouldn't hurt to humor them for one night, and I was  
curious in spite of myself.  
  
I went to gather my things from the rocks by the pool, Gladrel  
following me. Bruno stayed with Lindir, who he seemed to have taken a  
strong liking to. Gladrel pulled a small net from somewhere inside  
her cloak (I had decided she was female) and proceeded to quickly and  
adeptly catch dinner with practiced movements so economical and  
refined that I could barely follow with my eyes. Apparently it was  
not ok to swim, but it was ok to fish. Fine with me. Gladrel was  
not, however, interested in talking.  
  
I carried my things back over to where Lindir was preparing a fire for  
the fish and laying out a type of flatbread he called "lembas." Bruno  
lay on his other side, and looked around at me sheepishly like he was  
sorry, he liked Lindir better than me. I stuck my tongue out at him,  
but the fact that Bruno was not at all upset by these people gave me  
some reassurance. I tried some simple "yes" or "no" questions, to no  
avail. Sizing the two of them up, I wondered if they were as tough  
and reserved as they wanted to appear. I decided that dinner might be  
an advantageous occasion to share my wine.  
  
While the fish was being prepared (I chose not to try and share my  
dehydrated dinners, as I was sure they would not be appreciated),  
Orodren returned. I followed him over to the redwood with the "flet",  
where I watched him casually sight and shoot an arrow with a small  
grappling hook on the end up into the tree, then pull the rope that  
was attached to it hand over hand until the looped end of the  
counterweighted flet ladder was back in its proper place at the base  
of the tree. How had he even seen where the rope was, 200 or so feet  
up, with dusk fast approaching, much less snag it on the first  
attempt? When I expressed my amazement he merely smiled cheekily at  
me and walked back over to the camp, blond hair flowing behind him. I  
mused that he had been missing for a couple of hours at most, so  
wherever he had gone to get the hooked arrow could not be more than an  
hour away. I am filing that information away for future use.  
  
I followed Orodren back over to the fire, announcing that I had wine  
to share. Not just any wine, but the best old vine Zinfandel from the  
best foothill vintage in the last ten years. I seemed to have struck  
a subject close to their hearts, as this announcement was met with  
intense interest. I dug into my pack, pulled out a fat package - I  
had wrapped the bottle in several protective layers of clothing - and  
unwound it. When I saw the label I let loose a string of curses that  
Ed would have been proud of. That bastard Jason had switched bottles  
on me, leaving me with a cheap red table wine! He'd probably had a  
great time drinking my precious Zin and laughing at me. I hotly  
explained my predicament to my captors (well, they HAD kidnapped  
Jason's ring) and they broke into gales of laughter. It was good to  
know they had a sense of humor. I had to admit it was well played.  
When I get away from these people I will have to get Jason back, but  
good!  
  
Dinner has passed and it grows darker. The wine seems not to have had  
a tongue-loosening effect on anyone; there was probably not enough of  
it to go around. There is no indication that anyone is going to try  
to restrain me for the night, but I can't even go to the bathroom  
without Gladrel's company. She keeps looking at me writing, I have  
been at it so long. I'll keep the journal in my sleeping bag tonight.  
  
* * * * *  
  
1 September  
  
This day has been even more unusual than yesterday, and that's saying  
a lot.  
  
Last night as the cooking fire died down, Orodren excused himself and  
silently ascended the redwood to the flet, with much more skill than I  
had done, needless to say. When I inquired why of Lindir, he actually  
answered me - Orodren would keep first watch while we slept. They  
usually slept in the trees, but tonight for my comfort they would  
sleep on the ground. Why was a watch necessary, I pried, to which he  
replied that "those of my kind" sometimes wandered into Methentaurond  
and had to be persuaded to leave. Besides, there were other, older  
things that walked the night that must be guarded against. I wondered  
if my experience in the fairie ring had been one of those things, and  
I was suddenly glad for the company, however weird.  
  
As the darkness deepened and the stars came out, Gladrel began to  
sing, in that hauntingly beautiful and grave language that I couldn't  
place. Her voice was the sweetest soprano I have ever heard. I  
imagined even the trees even seemed to pause in their rustlings to  
listen. Although her words were unknown to me, something in me  
responded. Visions floated across my mind of strange lands and a  
longing for that which had passed; then a looking forward, as a  
homecoming borne from the sea, to unfamiliar birds soaring in the  
sparkling spray of ocean waves crashing before white- walled, rocky  
headlands, exotic trees and plants gracing shores that I knew had  
never existed.  
  
Petting Bruno, who had returned to my side as if to declare a truce,  
and watching Gladrel through sleepy eyes, I became aware that the  
luminous quality I had first noticed in Lindir was shared by Gladrel,  
and had intensified as the night deepened around us. I turned to look  
at Lindir again. A faint, ethereal aura shone around each of them. I  
knew people who claimed they could see peoples' auras, like energy  
fields around them. Each person's aura was unique and of different  
colors, they explained, which changed somewhat with a person's mood.  
Lighter colors were positive, while a dark aura warned of evil or  
depression. I believed them. Heck, photographers had captured the  
auras around leaves and flowers on film; Asian architects wrote about  
detrimental or auspicious flows of energy, or chi, of different  
arrangements of space, affecting people's fortune and happiness. But  
I had never seen an aura around a person before. Was this what I saw,  
last night in the dark? If so, these peoples' auras were al the same  
color, a pure, lambent white, like the faint glow just outside of a  
candle's flame.  
  
Yet, in the light of the morning filtering down through the trees, the  
cool breeze rustling through the ferns and the honking of migrating  
geese far above us, those images of the night seemed like a dream.  
  
We have spent the entire day still near our camp near the pool.  
Lindir says we are waiting, although, in what I am coming to learn is  
his typical fashion, he won't say directly what we are waiting for.  
  
Then I figured the typical cult brainwashing sessions were beginning,  
because he spent a good part of the morning lecturing me on the  
environmental evils of modern society, which I was hard pressed to  
argue with except that I was not sure "evils" is the right word.  
"Mistakes" would be fairer, I thought, and told him so.  
  
I'm not sure why I felt obligated to argue, except that I had heard  
too many such tirades before. They usually began with inflated,  
misinformed and purposefully misleading "facts", followed by  
assertions that humans were a disease on the earth and we ought to all  
just die and stop being a burden on the planet, followed by some sort  
of anonymous tree-spiking or factory bombing to emphasize their  
mantra. I'm not sure those people included themselves in that theory.  
If they did, they were too depressed for me to want to listen to. It  
wasn't often that other solutions were proffered, but when they were  
they usually took the form of ludicrous plans to destroy technology  
and return to the dark ages, or revert to communism. (Of course,  
streams were never polluted in the dark ages, and we all knew how  
clean Russia's factories were.)  
  
It's not that I was against environmentalism, I clarified, I was all  
for it. I knew the earth's ecosystems were in jeopardy, I knew we  
were overtaxing the planet. I just thought we were part of the earth;  
its steward, not its enemy. I thought we could pull together and make  
things better, if everyone just stopped spitting falsehoods on both  
sides and agreed to realistic solutions.  
  
Lindir and his companions were not so positive. They thought I was  
making excuses for our wastefulness and our greed. Morgoth's message  
was at work everywhere, he said, and there was no distinction anymore  
between good and evil. We could not see our way; we did not take the  
time to stop and listen to what the earth was telling us. He doubted  
we could hear it if we tried. We continued to do harm even after we  
realized we were doing it. Computers, cell phones, microwave towers,  
electronics of all kinds assailed our bodies constantly. We were sick  
and diseased and it was of our own making.  
  
Who was Morgoth?  
  
His people heard and saw the sickness in the earth, he confided  
bleakly without answering my question, and there was despair among  
them. Some of them, even, had become ill. This had not happened, he  
said, in all the ages of the earth, and they knew not what to do  
except to leave Arda, which they loved, at last.  
  
Figuring he wouldn't tell me what Arda was, I told them that I thought  
that if people came to truly understand the problems and see the  
possibilities, people would change. Did they hear the geese, I asked.  
Thousands of them, migrating south for the winter, thousands more  
than anyone could remember. We were preserving the wetlands now, I  
reminded him, because now we understood, and look at how many geese  
there were now. Look at green design, I told them. Architects were  
learning to design buildings that worked with the earth, not against  
it, and saving resources and energy.  
  
Yes, we had begun to understand some small things, they conceded. But  
cultural change comes slowly: Too slowly for the earth, too slowly for  
his people, and perhaps for mine. How many "green" buildings had I  
designed, Orodren asked, once I learned how to do it? None, I told  
him, but I was trying to get our office culture to change, and yes, it  
was slow and difficult. So difficult I had almost given up.  
  
He walked away from me.  
  
I thought about what Lindir had said, later, sitting by the pool and  
teasing a squirrel closer and closer to me with bits of lembas. I  
knew he was right, and somehow I also knew he, Gladrel and Orodren  
were not psychotic environmental terrorists with an aversion to  
technology, nor were they bleached-blond brainwashed Swedish religious  
cult members.  
  
As the daylight faded, I got up and walked back over to the campfire  
where Lindir and Orodren were talking quietly. Gladrel had  
disappeared somewhere again. Goodbye work, I decided. Ed would  
probably fire me once I was a few days later than expected, if I  
hadn't called with an explanation. But I would stay until I  
understood who "his people" and Morgoth were, what Methentaurond and  
Arda were, and what this was all about.  
  
Tell me, I said.  
  
Tomorrow, said Lindir.  
  
I can't believe I am doing this. I have never been such a sucker in my  
life.  
  
*Somewhere I have Never Traveled, Gladly Beyond . . . a poem by  
E.E. Cummings 


	7. Ch 7: A Elbereth Gilthoniel!

See Chapter 1 for disclaimer.  
  
THE TALE OF MARIAN  
  
Chapter 7: A Elbereth Gilthoniel!*  
  
2 September  
  
"A Elbereth Gilthoniel,  
Silivren penna miriel  
O menel aglar elenath!  
Na-chaered palan-diriel  
O galadhremmin ennorath,  
Fanuilos, le linnathon  
Nef aear, si nef aearon!"*  
  
This was the first music, the first words that woke me up in the  
morning before the sunrise, while the stars still shone between the  
trees and a soft light began to suffuse the sky. They stay with me  
still, clear in my mind, though I can't say how.  
  
I sat up and saw that Orodren was singing, standing high on a rocky  
outcropping a short way up the hill from our camp, his face raised to  
the sky. It sounded like a hymn, falling gently on the forest floor in  
the enveloping silence of that early hour when all is still. Then, as  
Orodren's song ended, I heard the birds begin to sing.  
  
"This is what is says, roughly, in Westron, mother of the language  
that you now call English, and which most of us speak, some with more  
ability than others," Lindir said quietly, coming to sink cross-legged  
beside me on my sleeping bag:  
  
"O! Elbereth, who lit the stars, from glittering crystal  
slanting falls with  
light like jewels from heaven on high the glory of the starry  
host.  
To lands remote I have looked afar, and now to thee, Fanuilos,  
bright spirit clothed in ever-white, I here will sing beyond the  
Sea, beyond the wide and sundering sea."**  
  
Then Lindir offered for me to ask my questions of them now, that  
Gladrel stood watch and will join us after a time.  
  
Why now, I asked first. Why would they not answer my questions  
before?  
  
"You were not ready," was his reply.  
  
Where to begin, I thought? I might as well begin with the present.  
  
I asked who Elbereth, and Fanuilos were, what language the song was  
in, what were the lands remote, and where was "beyond the sea"?  
  
Lindir smiled and raised his hands in protest as Orodren joined us.  
"One question at a time, young one!" he exclaimed  
  
Startled, I replied that surely they were younger than I was, they all  
looked 30 at the most!  
  
Orodren informed me that in truth they were much older, but I must  
allow Lindir to start at the beginning. With an impish smile, he told  
me that Lindir was chief among their "keepers of the tales of yore",  
and had been biting his tongue since the day I came upon them. By now  
he should be near to bursting, he said, though he would not show it.  
  
I looked at Lindir expectantly.  
  
With a harassed sigh, Lindir began. I have written as exactly as I  
can possibly manage what he said, though I am still confused by it and  
have probably missed much:  
  
"Elbereth and Fanuilos, are one and the same - Fanuilos is what the  
Eldar, the first and greatest of our people who dwelled with them in  
Valinor, saw when she walked among them in physical form, snow-white  
and radiant. She is our most beloved of the Great Ones: Lady of the  
Stars. With Manwe Lord of Arda she dwells in Valinor, the Undying  
Lands, across the great Sea that separates them from Arda, the Kingdom  
of the Earth."  
  
Somewhat at a loss, I commented to Lindir that, last time I checked,  
the Earth was round and the only land on the other side of either  
ocean was more Earth.  
  
"Yet it was not always so, Marian. In the beginning the First Born  
who we call the Eldar dwelt in the Far West, in Valinor. Many  
journeyed to Arda and dwelt there before the Followers came to be, but  
they have all since returned to the West. Others of the First Born,  
we among them, came to life in Arda, as did the Followers. Many ages  
ago the Followers who were faithful to Iluvatar were called by the  
Great Ones to dwell near to them, on an island of great beauty, a gift  
from the Great Ones, the Valar. It lay far west of here, and from it  
could be seen the shores of the Undying Lands. Yet, the Followers  
were not allowed to journey to Valinor. Most became embittered of  
this and made war upon the Eldar, upon Valinor. In retribution,  
Iluvatar drowned the island and forever removed the Undying Lands from  
the reach of the Followers, into the realm of hidden things. Roads  
that were once straight became bent - the Earth became round. Yet  
still the First Born who dwelt upon the earth were permitted to find  
and sail upon the Straight Way to Valinor.  
  
Once the First Born felt the Call of the Sea, once the time of the  
Followers had come and the glory and beauty of the First Born began to  
fade, most took the ships to Valinor, to dwell there forever."  
  
This Valinor, then, I asked, trying to parallel his story with  
something I could relate to, was where people live forever, it is what  
they called heaven; and Elbereth and Manwe, they were like God?  
  
Lindir looked to Orodren, who nodded at him in encouragement, and then  
continued.  
  
"Marian, Valinor is to the First Born what your people would  
understand as Heaven, or Nirvana, or other names it is given here.  
Yet Elbereth and Manwe are not God, who we name Iluvatar, but his Holy  
Ones, of which there are many. Yavanna, Giver of Fruits, who holds  
dear all things that grow, and trees the dearest; Nienna, who mourns  
for the suffering of Arda and teaches pity and hope, and brings  
strength from sorrow to the spirit, are others.  
  
There are also the helpers of the Valar, the Maiar, who are also  
spirits of the World. For Iluvatar the Valar began the Music of the  
World, the light in the darkness, whose Song is forever being sung and  
forever changing. Among the stars and a part of that Song is Arda,  
and the Children of Iluvatar, your people and ours."  
  
Angels and Archangels and all the company of Heaven, who forever sing  
praises to His Name. Elbereth and Manwe; Zeus and Hera; Ra and Isis, I  
repeated out loud from my childhood memories. Were they one and the  
same? Were they saying that the Song was the whole universe, which  
was constantly changing?"  
  
Lindir smiled. " Yes, but only Iluvatar knows to what end the Song  
will lead in the fullness of time. Our beliefs and our legends, your  
peoples and ours, the Followers and the First Born, spring from the  
same Light, the same Truth, yet our fates are separate. Whereas we of  
the First Born are bound to the earth, its life being ours, and KNOW,  
you, the Followers, are caretakers of the earth and have dominion over  
it, yet you are free from it, and must only BELIEVE."  
  
But I didn't understand, I said, my head reeling. What were the First  
Born, what were the Followers? What wasthe difference between us?" I  
finally felt close to the crux of Lindir's story (and story I still  
believed it was), but quite confused. Where was all of this leading?  
  
Lindir paused and a look passed between him and Orodren that made me  
hold my breath. Finally Lindir spoke again.  
  
"Marian, we know that this will be difficult for you to accept, but  
you must believe that we speak the truth.  
  
The glory and beauty of the First Born have faded, as Iluvatar  
intended, and the time of the Followers is in its fullness of the sun.  
F ew of us remain in Arda now in the after-days. Most now wander in  
the lonely places of the world, the woods and the caves, and keep to  
the moonlight and the starlight. Few, if any of the Followers know of  
us. We would not reveal ourselves to you now if it were not for the  
severity of our plight, and our deep and abiding love for Arda, for  
which we have remained, perhaps unwisely, long after our time here has  
passed.  
  
Your people, the Second Children of Iluvatar, the Followers, are  
mortal men. Possessing the Gift of Death from Iluvatar, you live  
short lives, then die and go where we know not after.  
  
We are the First Children of Iluvatar, immortal, who dwelt upon the  
earth before men and will we hope at last return to Valinor to endure  
forever, where men may not follow, for our paths are separate. We are  
Elves."  
  
Of all the far-fetched stories, of all the tall tales that I had  
imagined Lindir would tell me, I had not been prepared for this. He  
had almost been making sense to me after a time - I could see how a  
small society, even in the States, could come up with its own version  
of creation that paralleled the known religions. But this! The sheer  
ludicrousness of the idea - elves! - struck me as ridiculously funny  
after the tension of the last few days, and I could humor him no more.  
I stared at Lindir and Orodren with their looks of utter sincerity  
and gravity, and laughed in their faces.  
  
I'm sorry, I said, but this was it. This was all I could take.  
Elves! Elves were little sprites with pointed ears that helped Santa  
and made cookies. Elves were pixies in the woods that tormented  
humans for fun by turning them into donkeys and making fools of them.  
Why, I had even been an elf once: As a child I had worn a beanie on  
my head, and called myself a Brownie! Why, if they expected me to  
believe in elves, I would have to believe in dwarves and trolls, and  
fairies and goblins, too!  
  
I have seen no dwarves or trolls in a millennium, confided Orodren  
seriously, and goblins but few, though they had come upon one on  
occasion, in the dark. But there was no such thing as fairies, as far  
as he knew.  
  
Ok, look, I said, getting up and starting to stuff my things into my  
backpack. I was sure they were all really nice people, but I was  
leaving now, ring or no ring. What did they want with me, anyway?  
Why did they say they had been expecting me? What were they trying to  
pull, and did they really think I was THAT stupid?  
  
Lindir stood up as I did and grasped me gently by the arms. He held  
my gaze with his own intense and even perhaps slightly desperate one  
and said simply that men needed the gift that the elves had to give,  
and it was only me to whom they were willing to give it. They needed  
to give it to me. Arda needed them to give it to me, and I must  
accept it and shoulder the burden that would come with it.  
  
Then he let me go, grasped the long, blond hair on both sides of his  
head, drew it back and braided it, drew it, up over his ears. Orodren  
did the same.  
  
I looked at them in shock for just a moment; then I came to my senses.  
Oh please! I groaned, reached out and grabbed Lindir's ear, and  
twisted it.  
  
It didn't come off. As a matter of fact, Lindir looked like he had  
just suffered severely, with that agonized, nauseated look on his face  
that men get when someone kicked them in the balls - not that I have  
ever done that, I like to stay alive.  
  
It was evident to me that the pain Lindir felt was very real. I felt  
terrible! I started to apologize, when (probably lucky for me) a  
clear bird call came from the direction of the flet. Orodren grasped  
my arm and pushed me and my backpack behind a big sword fern,  
whispering to me that someone was approaching and then taking position  
a few yards away. If I had not known where he was I would not even  
have seen him, he blended into the forest so completely and silently.  
  
Lindir disappeared behind a tree.  
  
Both of them had picked up their bows and now drew them, making my  
heart pound. What were they intending to do? Shoot someone?  
  
We waited silently for a few moments. All at once Bruno, whom I had  
forgotten, jumped up and started barking. Before I could stop him, he  
had taken off down the hill.  
  
"Bruno," a delighted, small voice rang out from the trees, and Adam  
appeared, walking toward the pool and petting Bruno, whose tail was  
wagging fiercely. Maybe I had misjudged him and he didn't eat small  
boys after all.  
  
As Adam and Bruno neared the pool I glared at Orodren and Lindir, who  
had their arrows trained on the boy. Where were his parents, and how  
long would it be before he started calling for me?  
  
I looked back at Adam, who had reached the pool and had begun to take  
off his shoes. Orodren tightened his bow. Desperately I wondered if  
they would shoot an innocent child for jumping in the water. Would  
Gladrel? I had thought these people were not dangerous. Clearly,  
they were very much so. I had to do something before it was too late.  
  
Grabbing my backpack and running down the hill, I called out to Adam  
in what I hoped was a cheerful greeting. Hoping that I was planted  
firmly in Orodren's and Lindir's way, I couldn't also get between the  
flet and the boy. I glanced up at where I thought Gladrel would be in  
a silent plea.  
  
Quickly, I cautioned Adam not to touch the water, that it wasn't safe.  
I drew him away and handed him his shoes.  
  
Greeting me and looking longingly toward the pool, he asked why not,  
that he saw fish in the water so what was wrong with it? I paused,  
trying to think of a believable explanation.  
  
"Its currents are deceptive," a smooth voice stated from behind me. I  
turned and looked up to see Lindir standing there, ears and all but  
without his bow, his very presence exuding serene command. "You may  
drink, but it would be VERY dangerous to enter," he said, giving Adam  
a direct and meaningful look.  
  
Adam looked up at Lindir, clearly in awe of him, and said wow, he got  
it, he would not go in. His mom and dad were just down the hill. He  
would tell them not to go in, either.  
  
I breathed a sigh of relief. Looking at Lindir pointedly, I told Adam  
that we were going to go find his parents now, that we were not on the  
right trail. We would go back and find his parents, and wasn't it  
about time they went home, school was starting soon, wasn't it?  
  
Adam, like any kid, protested the impending start of school, and did  
he HAVE to go?  
  
Lindir advised him that school was indeed very important and it was  
time for him to go home. He must, however, carry his time in the  
forest with him when he returned, and remember the wisdom of the  
trees.  
  
Adam replied that he would, as though he understood exactly what  
Lindir was talking about, and asked if he could tell his class that he  
had seen him, too.  
  
Lindir replied that he thought it would be best if he did not, at  
least right away, and asked Adam if he did not agree.  
  
Adam agreed with some disappointment that yeah, he guessed he was  
right. Then Adam turned to me and asked if I was really coming with  
him, a confused look on his face as he looked between me and Lindir.  
  
Yes, I told Adam, Bruno and I were coming with him; it was time to get  
back to reality. Then I turned and told Lindir sincerely that I was  
sorry, while I thought that really I had been learning to like him  
very much.  
  
Surprisingly, Lindir reached into his cloak and brought out Jason's  
ring, silently placing it in my hand and searching my eyes deeply with  
his own clear, intense and seemingly wise gaze. What he said next  
struck me hard and made me feel totally miserable.  
  
"I am sorry as well," he said, deep disappointment etched on his  
perfect face. "Perhaps you are not the person we hoped you would be."  
Then he shrugged, "The Followers all seem the same to me, anyway."  
  
I looked down at the ground momentarily, then back up to reply. But,  
silently, he had gone.  
  
*From: The Fellowship of the Ring, J.R.R. Tolkien **From: The Road Goes Ever On - A Song Cycle, poems by J.R.R. Tolkien, Music by Donald Swann. 


	8. Ch 8: The Lord of Methentaurond

See Chapter 1 for disclaimer.  
  
A/N: Thank you for the reviews. If you don't like something, please let me know so I can improve. I don't consider constructive criticism to be "flames."  
I must admit I find this "journal" format to be very constraining and probably won't try it again. It doesn't let me show how the other characters see things except through their words or actions. Hopefully more of Jason's point of view later in the story will help.  
Marian is a woman who has definite values, unrealized dreams and wants to change, yet has been playing it safe most of her life. Will she have the gumption to take a leap of faith?  
Anybody have any idea who Jason is yet, or what role Haldir will play in all of this? Clues (or blatant give-aways) coming up..  
  
THE TALE OF MARIAN  
  
Chapter 8: The Lord of Methentaurond  
  
3 September  
  
Yesterday after Lindir disappeared - how can anyone walk so silently,  
so quickly? - I quickly gathered the rest of my things and put Bruno  
back on his leash. He had whined after Lindir, but had stayed with  
me.  
  
We soon caught up with Adam's parents. They had not been as  
disoriented as I had, so they knew their bearings better than I. My  
explanation that I had gotten lost, and that the trail ahead died out  
in some very rough terrain, seemed to satisfy them. They had been  
planning to head back that day anyway, so had been pleased enough to  
turn around. Interestingly enough, Adam didn't mention seeing Lindir  
to them at all. He kept giving me an "it's our secret" look whenever  
I made eye contact with him.  
  
By the time we made camp, the clouds had come in again to obscure the  
sunlight filtering between the trees, lending a flat, dim cast to our  
surroundings, and an early nightfall. After not having done so when I  
was with the "elves"(!), I again found a nice hollowed out tree to  
sling my hammock in.  
  
I found myself staring dully into our campfire more than once,  
absently scratching Bruno behind the ears and missing bits of  
conversation directed toward me by Adam or his parents. The overcast  
sky, obscuring the stars, did nothing to improve my unhappy mood.  
Somewhat chilled and deciding I was lousy company, I retired to my  
sleeping bag early.  
  
Depressed. I had been depressed ever since Lindir had left us in  
front of the pool. I was aggravated with myself because,  
inexplicably, I felt guilty.  
  
Why should I feel guilty? I had been kept guessing for days, been  
told a pack of nonsense that no stable, sane person would have given  
two minutes to listen to. Yet, I had stayed and listened, like a  
fool. I had even begun to feel some sort of bond, some understanding,  
develop between myself and those three clearly loony but intriguingly  
wise-seeming people. So why did I feel guilty for leaving? Why did I  
feel that I was missing an opportunity, left something important  
undone by rejecting them? Was it only because Lindir had left things  
unsaid that I still wanted to know, that they had seemed to sincerely  
open up to me only because they needed my help, and I had turned my  
back on them?  
  
I pulled out Jason's ring from beneath my T-shirt, running my fingers  
over its intricate patterns in the dark, inside my sleeping bag.  
Remembering Orodren's reaction to finding it on the ground, I wondered  
if Lindir had held Jason's ring just to keep me from leaving, or if it  
had it held a deeper meaning for them? And if so, why?  
  
Who would Orodren sing to tonight, with Elbereth hidden from view?  
Would he sing to Nienna, lamenting the damage done to Arda, and pray  
for its repair? Or would he sing to Manwe, sing for a ship to carry  
them away to Valinor?  
  
How had these people become so entrenched in, so sure of this strange  
way of looking at themselves and the world?  
  
I closed my eyes, but all I could see before me was Lindir's sculpted  
face, pale and luminous, and his deep, blue eyes, something like  
Jason's, but different; ageless, steady eyes, full of wisdom and  
secrets. Secrets I had but to ask to be shown.  
  
For the hundredth time I wished Kevin were here with me. Kevin would  
have given me perspective, a hold on the solid and the real. I needed  
him.  
  
Lindir's Gift of Death was no "gift!"  
  
He's GONE, I reminded myself sternly. I had good judgement; I needed  
to rely on myself, do what I wanted.  
  
But what was it that I wanted? Did I really want to go home and plead  
for my job back, where things would go on as they always had, and  
continue to beat my head against the wall? Did I want to go back and  
start my own office, to eek out a living doing a green building here  
and there if I could find a client who was interested enough to do  
something different, but never make a real difference?  
  
Weren't all of the buildings I had ever designed simply meant to  
enrich the lives of the people who used them, to give meaning and  
comfort, importance, even inspiration, to the smallest and greatest of  
what people did every day? Hadn't I always wanted to do this and make  
them fit into the outdoors, benefit and be at one with the environment  
around them, instead of damaging it?  
  
Lindir had alluded that the "gift" they wanted to give me would help  
the earth somehow. Wasn't that what I had always wanted to  
accomplish? What if their gift could help me do that? What if this  
was what I needed to truly change? I had been playing it safe for  
years, not making waves. Ripples, but not waves. Look where that had  
gotten me.  
  
And weren't they strange, Lindir and Orodren and Gladrel. Strangely  
beautiful, and enchanting. They blended with the outdoors like they  
were truly part of it, at one with it. And that pure, magical aura  
that surrounded them, and their eyes! I couldn't  
make sense of them.  
  
Don't be ridiculous, I told myself. I was letting their fantasies,  
their obsessions, take over. They were just good manipulators, like  
any other cult. I was letting them confuse me.  
  
A light danced across my closed eyelids and I opened them, pushing  
these thoughts to the back of my mind. Adam peeked his head into the  
tree. He whispered, did I mind if he asked me something pretty  
personal? I answered of course I didn't mind, and to come in. He  
ducked through the opening and settled himself next to Bruno, his  
flashlight making mysterious shadows on the wavy burned-smooth insides  
of the tree.  
  
It was great that I was here, he said, but why hadn't I stayed with  
the elves? He sure would have if he had been given the chance!  
  
I thought back, startled, to what Lindir had said to Adam; he had  
never mentioned being an elf, and I certainly hadn't put that idea  
into Adam's head.  
  
I asked him, carefully, why he thought Lindir had been an elf.  
  
Just because he was one, Adam said. Couldn't I tell he was?  
  
Adam, they probably had plastic surgery to make their ears look  
pointed, I explained gently, trying to make people think they were  
elves. No, they were just a bunch of mixed up people.  
  
They were not! Adam pouted, a hurt look on his face. It wasn't just  
their ears - did I think he was a baby, that it was just the ears?  
  
Sitting up in anticipation, I asked him what was it then that made him  
think they were elves?  
  
He didn't THINK they were, he said in exasperation, he just KNEW they  
were. I could see he was getting frustrated trying to explain. It  
wasn't one thing, he said slowly, it was just, well, everything. He  
could feel it. He knew his parents wouldn't understand. Most grown-  
ups wouldn't believe him. But he thought that I could feel it too.  
After all, I was with them.  
  
I was baffled - I didn't know what to say.  
  
Bruno whimpered as Adam stood up in discouragement and turned to  
leave. They need you, he said with tears in his voice that I couldn't  
see, or they wouldn't have told you - you have to go back! And he  
stomped off in the dark.  
  
This morning when I got up I still hadn't made up my mind. After  
breakfast I still hadn't made up my mind. And as we packed, well. .  
. . .  
  
I took a few steps down the hill behind Adam, who turned and looked at  
me with a disappointed frown on his face.  
  
I took a few more steps, feeling worse with every one. Bruno kept  
looking behind him, dragging on the leash, then looking up at me.  
  
I stared into his big, brown bear eyes. Did I really want to spend  
the rest of my life sitting on the fence? I was 45 - if I didn't make  
a change now, I might never do it. I stomped in frustration and  
glared at Bruno. My head was telling me it was impossible, elves  
didn't exist. My heart was telling me otherwise.  
  
I paused, falling behind. Adam turned around and stopped when he saw  
me, hope washing over his features. I dropped Bruno's leash and  
waited. He trotted a few paces back up toward the trail, turned to  
look at me, and whined. That did it. I threw up my hands. Here I  
was, a grown woman, letting an eleven-year-old and a big dumb dog tell  
me what to do. Boys and dogs. Boys and dogs and elves. It was the  
only thing that made sense. Damn.  
  
I've changed my mind, I told Adam's parents. I'm going back. When  
they asked me why in surprise, I looked at Adam, smiled, and said that  
I had unfinished business. A gigantic smile broke across his face,  
and he ran and hugged me. We said our goodbyes, and I took off back  
up the hill, Bruno practically dragging me by his leash, so I let him  
loose. Go, run boy, I said, find them! I couldn't stop grinning.  
Nothing had felt this good, this free, in years!  
  
There was only one thing that still gave me pause - would I see Jason  
again? I couldn't bear the thought of losing my best friend. Yes, I  
promised myself, no matter what else happened, I would see Jason  
again, and nothing could stop me. My mind at ease, except for a tiny  
nagging that I chose to ignore, I plodded on up the hill.  
  
* * * * *  
  
It was dark by the time we reached the Linluin again, but the clouds  
had been blown away by the wind that now sighed through the trees.  
The stars were out, and a three-quarters moon was high in the sky,  
beaming down through the swaying branches, reflections shimmering in  
the water. Dimly, I could just see enough to make my way to the edge  
of the rocks. Movement was all around me: The trees, the ferns, the  
water danced in the wind. The needles carpeting the forest floor  
swirled up and around me, suffusing the air with the cool, clean scent  
of the redwoods. A magic moment, I thought, when anything could  
happen.  
  
I called out for Gladrel, looking up to where the flet would be in the  
darkness, but there was no answer. Lindir! Orodren! I called out,  
cupping my hands around my mouth to cut off the wind, and waited a few  
seconds. Nothing.  
  
I dropped my pack and worked my way up to where our camp had been,  
stepping from one patch of moonlight to the next, Bruno beside me.  
Nothing remained to show that we had ever been there, at least nothing  
that I could see in the dim moonlight.  
  
Lindir, it's Marian! I called out, the wind muffling my voice and  
throwing my hair into my eyes.  
  
Where were they? If they had left, how would I ever find them? If  
they did not want to be found, I could search for them and never catch  
sight of them.  
  
I groped my way back to the pool, praying that a branch wouldn't break  
off and hit me, and stripped down to my underwear and tank top,  
shivering in the cold wind. If they were here but not answering, I  
knew how to get their attention.  
  
As I dove into the cool water, the last bit of cynicism melted from my  
heart like frost melting from a window in the morning sun. Surfacing  
and swimming to the far side of the pool, I floated on my back and  
gazed joyously at the stars shining brightly through the swaying  
branches.  
  
Lindir, I believe you! I yelled to the night sky with all of my  
might.  
  
Something crashed through the brush behind me and I whipped around,  
treading water, but I could see nothing. Probably a deer, I thought,  
or Bruno. But wasn't Bruno on the other side of the pool? I turned  
back around in the water to look for him up on the rocks. What I saw  
sent an intense physical jolt completely through my body, settling  
firmly between my legs, and I gasped. Standing above me on the  
outcropping hanging over the pond was the most magnificent male I had  
ever seen, or dared to imagine. Never - NEVER - had I experienced  
such a powerful, instant physical reaction to any man.  
  
It wasn't that his features were classically perfect - they weren't,  
exactly, but I found them immensely appealing. It wasn't that he had  
pointed ears, or that his skin was as lustrous as the moon in the  
night sky, or that he exuded pure sensuality from every pore. It was  
not only his long, thick hair shining silver in the moonlight, the  
wind carrying it into the air in tendrils behind him, or his long,  
rich robes, pushed against his body by the wind, silhouetting his  
tall, muscular frame, his cloak streaming behind him. It was more.  
The supreme confidence with which he carried himself, bordering on  
haughtiness, the aura of absolute command that he radiated, the sheer  
power of his penetrating gaze made me feel that my innermost thoughts  
were as transparent as gauze to him if he chose to make them so. He  
had the same ancient, wise, deep eyes as Lindir, only more so. But  
this male's eyes were cold - as cold and hard as granite.  
  
He reminded me faintly of someone, though I couldn't think who.  
Staring at him open-mouthed, unable to break away from his steady,  
piercing gaze as though he held my own eyes there by his will alone, I  
reminded myself to breathe, and attempted to regain my composure  
before he read my reaction. A slight, unreadable change in his  
features told me I had not succeeded.  
  
If there was any small shred of doubt in my mind about the existence  
of elves, it disappeared in that moment. This male was either one of  
the Valar, or he was without doubt the Lord of Methentaurond -  
Lindir's Lord - to whom I was to answer to, the elf-lord who would  
judge me for bathing in the Linluin. That very Linluin which I  
happened to be neck-deep in at that very moment. Again.  
  
Silently and with exquisite, fluid grace this vision drew a long arrow  
from the quiver on his back and sighted his bow directly on me.  
  
"Back out of the water, away from me. Slowly." His voice brooked no  
disobedience, its clear, rich, demanding tone and cadence sending  
shivers up and down my spine, in addition to the shivers I was  
experiencing from the wind and not least from the extremely sharp-  
looking arrow pointed at my face.  
  
I glided over to the bank until I could put my feet on the bottom,  
then slowly rose out of the water and stepped back toward the shore,  
my head held high, my eyes never leaving his. I was alternately scared  
to death and strangely excited. But, I would not show weakness or  
timidity at my lack of clothing, I commanded myself. I would not  
shiver with the cold. It wasn't exactly Botticelli's Venus on a Clam  
Shell, but it was the best I could muster.  
  
"Halt," he commanded tersely, and I stopped with my back near the  
bushes overhanging the bank, the water still lapping above my knees.  
He quickly and mercilessly assessed me from the top of my head to the  
water's surface, his steely expression never changing from one of  
concentrated aloofness and mild derision. My face grew hot, my  
confidence shattering like the shards of a breaking tempered glass  
window crashing to the floor. I was thankful for the darkness and that  
my skin didn't glow to reveal my insecurity over my features. I was  
certain that he would find me lacking. He certainly lacked Jason's  
gift of flattery, which I missed most terribly at that moment.  
  
"Do. . . not. . . move," he ordered as quietly as the wind  
allowed, and drew back even more on the bowstring.  
  
What did he expect me to do? Stand there like a target with a red  
circle on my chest and wait until he felt like shooting me? Lindir  
hadn't shot me, so why was this elf going to do so now? I looked  
around, hoping for a familiar face, but saw no one else around us in  
the dark.  
  
And why the HELL couldn't I stop thinking about sex when I looked at  
him: Mind-numbing, burning, all-consuming sex. Was I crazy? I was  
about to die!  
  
As usual, my streak of stubborn sarcasm surfaced at just the wrong  
time: I put up my hands in surrender and asked him if his aim was so  
bad that he needed a stationary target.  
  
He did not answer me except to curl his lip and tilt his head slightly  
over his fingers on the bowstring, watchful and intent. I tensed,  
ready to throw myself to one side.  
  
Before I could react, he had released his arrow. I only had a split-  
second chance to shift slightly to my right, for which I was rewarded  
with the arrow tip slicing my shoulder. Instantaneously, a barrage of  
arrows whistled through the air toward me from all sides, and I heard  
something screech in the bushes behind me and fall into the water -  
something heavy.  
  
Jumping around in alarm with my hand on my bleeding shoulder, I  
watched in horror as Orodren and another elf entered the water near me  
and pulled a repulsive, rotten-smelling, gangly-looking shadow of a  
creature out of the water and hauled it off.  
  
Twisting back in panic and confusion, I saw that the tall elf had  
discarded his robes and dived into the water, swimming toward me with  
expert, silent strokes. Belatedly, I realized that he had been aiming  
behind me, not at me, and if I had held still as he had told me to I  
would not now be holding an injured arm.  
  
"Eru curse its foul stench in these waters!" he exclaimed as he  
reached me. Silently placing both palms down on the water's surface,  
I watched in wonder as the water radiated in tiny, glittering ripples  
from his hands and spread across the pool, then was still but for the  
wind that buffeted it now and again.  
  
What was that thing, and what did you just do, I asked him, swaying  
slightly as he stood up and steadied me, the feeling of his warm hand  
on my cold skin sending a wave of sensation through my arm. I was  
acutely aware of his condition, bare-chested and dressed only in  
dripping-wet tights from the waist down. Long, powerful legs, tight,  
muscled abdomen, broad chest, dark eyes - he looked even better half-  
naked and glistening wet in the moonlight. I wondered what color his  
eyes were, for I couldn't tell in the dark.  
  
"I ordered you not to move," he reprimanded me, clearly annoyed, as he  
drew me toward the shore.  
  
"I thought you were going to shoot me, and. . . . .Oh!" I growled,  
suddenly getting it and trying unsuccessfully to pull free of his  
strong grip on my arm, "You used me as bait!"  
  
"You had already made yourself bait," he replied curtly, "yelling and  
crashing about in the night - we simply waited for the creature to  
take it. It was fortunate for you that we were nearby."  
  
What. . . was. . . it, I repeated. I was getting tired of being  
evaded; he was almost as bad as Lindir.  
  
"What is left of goblins in this age."  
  
"A creature of darkness," he added when it was apparent that I didn't  
understand. Oh, well, I thought, that explained everything. . . .  
  
He kept his hold on my arm, neither roughly nor gently but rather  
possessively, which thrilled me again, and directed me to a seat on  
the rocks. Kneeling next to me, he began to examine my injury.  
  
Orodren reappeared near us in the darkness. Stopping in front of the  
tall elf and placing his hand on his heart, he bowed his head slightly  
and announced that the creature had been disposed of, calling the elf  
"my Lord Haldir," with the greatest deference, and offering his robes  
and my clothing brought from the other side of the pool. I had been  
right.  
  
The Lord of Methentaurond set the clothing down and directed him to  
guard against any more unwelcome visitors.  
  
You were here all along, weren't you, I accused Orodren. He merely  
raised his eyebrows and grinned at me over his shoulder as he  
sauntered off.  
  
By this time I was shivering in the wind. The Elf Lord returned to  
his examination of my arm, seemingly unaffected by the cold. "Hold  
still this time," he ordered, and glared at me like I was a  
disobedient child.  
  
He took water cupped in his hands from the pool and rinsed the blood  
from my arm. Then, pressing his hand firmly against the gash in my  
shoulder, he leaned forward in intense concentration until his  
forehead almost touched my cheek, closed his eyes and chanted  
something under his breath in what I assumed by this time was Elvish.  
My heart pounded from his nearness. I breathed in the wonderful scent  
of his hair and tried to keep my breathing even. Then I felt an odd  
but pleasant warmth spread through my shoulder. When he raised his  
head and removed his hand, the gash has completely disappeared.  
  
I looked into his dark and glittering eyes in bewilderment. If you  
can do this, I asked in awe, why did Lindir say that your people were  
becoming sick? Can't you do the same for them?  
  
"It is a sickness of the Earth that affects both men and elves." His  
eyes flashed with both anger and sorrow. "It cannot be cured by such  
methods. Arda itself must first be healed."  
  
He stood, drawing me up with him into a shaft of moonlight, but said  
no more. Then he reached out and curiously examined the small diamond  
studs that I wore in my ears.  
  
"What is the significance of these stones?" he demanded.  
  
Significance, I repeated, trying to understand what he was asking. I  
told him that I supposed there was no significance except that I liked  
them. They were just. . . decoration. The silent look he gave me  
told me just exactly what he thought of the wearing of gems that had  
no significance.  
  
Next, his eyes dropped to Jason's ring on its chain around my neck.  
He took it in his hand briefly. Then he raised my hands in his own  
and touched the thin, worn gold band on my left ring finger, raising  
his eyes to mine in silent interrogation.  
  
I explained that it was a wedding band.  
  
"You are bound to another?" he asked me sharply.  
  
Not any more, I replied, not understanding why he would react so  
strongly. I confided in a low voice that my husband was dead, that I  
didn't really know why I wore it anymore. I looked down. Although it  
was dark, I didn't want to risk him seeing the loneliness in my eyes.  
It was none of his business.  
  
"I am sorry for your loss," he said, with the first hint of gentleness  
that he had shown. Then, he picked up his cloak and draped it over my  
shoulders.  
  
I looked up at him in surprise. Thank you, I whispered.  
  
"So," he said after we both had replaced the rest of our clothing,  
stepping away from me and assessing me icily once more. Whatever  
gentleness I had imagined in his voice had disappeared instantly,  
replaced by a tone of scornful resignation, "This is what my brother  
gives me to work with."  
  
I changed my mind: He wasn't just haughty, he was arrogant: Elf or  
not, another arrogant, domineering blond with a superiority complex.  
I contemplated his long, luxurious, silvery hair again, still teased  
about by the wind and the moon. He probably stood in front of a  
mirror and stared at himself for hours. I was an idiot for being  
attracted to him. And he had noticed. That had probably fed his  
gigantic ego just fine.  
  
"You have violated the sanctity of the Linluin not once, but twice.  
The first time you did not know of our law, so I am somewhat able to  
set your trespass aside. However," and here he paused, pacing in  
front of me, "this time you were fully aware of our ban and yet  
knowingly disobeyed. I cannot allow such effrontery to go  
unpunished."  
  
He took a breath to continue, giving me an opportunity to argue. If  
you had answered when I called, I impatiently accused him, I would  
have had no reason to. . .  
  
"Be still, mortal!" he interrupted, stopping his pacing to stare down  
at me with his chin raised and his nostrils flaring. "I am Lord here,  
and must uphold the laws. Your feeble excuses are unimportant."  
  
How obnoxious and unreasonable could one Elf be, I asked myself,  
starting to boil with the unfairness of it all. Yes, I was powerfully  
attracted to him, but that didn't mean I had to like him. No, I  
resolved, I did not like him one bit. He was insufferable.  
  
This is America, I reminded him defiantly, raising my chin to mimic  
him, and you are not MY Lord. We choose our leaders, not the other  
way around.  
  
"And have you chosen well?" he asked scathingly.  
  
On occasion, I replied honestly. I supposed that it depended on one's  
point of view, I added.  
  
He seemed to consider my answer quite seriously for a moment. "I was  
chosen once also, long ago.  
  
You will remember that you are not in America now. You are in Tar-  
caranorn, greatest and oldest of forests, beloved of Yavanna above all  
others that yet remain in Arda." I noticed that he emphasized the  
words "that yet remain" quite accusingly. "If you wish to enter  
Methentaurond, you must respect my authority without question."  
  
I wasn't willing to throw myself down and pledge my undying obedience  
just yet. But, this was what I had wanted, after all. It seemed that  
I would have to at least bend a little. So, I countered stubbornly  
that I would consider accepting his authority, if it was wielded  
wisely, but he must earn my respect.  
  
"You are not upon this earth long enough to gain the wisdom to temper  
the knowledge you acquire and thirst for. You grow old in some ways,  
but remain naïve in others, and you are ever weak to the false  
promises of Morgoth. You may not presume to judge me, but only obey."  
  
He didn't give me time to answer, after having insulted both me  
personally and all of humanity about eight different ways in the  
course of two sentences, but continued. "I will delay your discipline  
as this is not an opportune moment, but be assured I will not forget."  
  
Then he whistled softly, and Orodren and several other elves appeared  
out of the trees, darker shadows in the pale night. I looked up to  
the sky, realizing that it was almost dawn.  
  
"You have been chosen also, Marian," he said with what I thought was  
a measure of disapproval. You will come with us to Methentaurond," he  
commanded, his voice becoming deeper and resonant with dignity, pride,  
and, I thought, perhaps a small measure of grief. "Know that you are  
favored far above any of your kin, as no mortal has ever been allowed  
to pass its gate, or even to guess at its very existence. It is our  
last sanctuary in Arda. To pass within you must be bound with your  
life to secrecy, and to other obligations which we will not reveal to  
you as of yet. Will you accept this?"  
  
So this was it, I thought, there would be no turning back either way  
once I answered him. Taking a deep breath and meeting those  
penetrating eyes riveted on my own, I said proudly that I would be  
honored to accept, and by my actions I would change his dim view of my  
kind if it was the last thing I did.  
  
"Very well," he finally concluded after a long, silent appraisal  
during which I thought I was barely passing some unspoken test. "You  
will walk blindfolded until we reach the gates. We will lead you  
well."  
  
What!? I spat at him in disbelief. After I had just put my life on a  
platter for him without even knowing why, he still did not trust me?  
  
"These are dark times for Elves, Marian," he stated just as darkly.  
"We must be vigilant always, and I will make no exception for you.  
Also," he said, and raised an eyebrow, "We do not freely give our  
trust - you must earn it."  
  
Touché, I mumbled, and allowed my eyes to be covered. 


	9. Ch 9: Hikers, Helicopters and Satellite...

See Chapter 1 for disclaimer.  
  
THE TALE OF MARIAN  
  
Chapter 9: Hikers, Helicopters and Satellites  
  
4 September  
  
I am exhausted, both physically and mentally.  
  
We must have walked for nearly six hours in the forest but for a few  
stops - up, around, down; down, up around - I quickly lost all sense  
of direction. I was glad that I had pushed myself daily in my hiking  
or I would never have had the stamina to keep up. As it was, I found  
that walking blindfolded, even with such care as the elves led me,  
demanded much more of me physically than being able to see around me  
would have.  
  
We had been walking most of the morning when the elf that was leading  
me stopped quickly and drew me and Bruno a few yards to one side,  
telling me warily to hold still. We waited silently.  
  
What was happening, I asked, whispering. Was something wrong?  
  
We are close to the edge of a clearing in the trees, he said quietly.  
  
Then I heard it - the faint, familiar sound of a helicopter. The  
unwelcome noise intensified as it drew closer somewhere overhead, not  
low in the sky but loud enough to disturb the perfect peace of the  
forest. I felt the elf's hand on my arm tighten. Perhaps sensing his  
unease, Bruno didn't bark. Good boy, I whispered to him, and  
scratched behind his ears. Then the disruption faded away, leaving a  
silence that seemed deeper than before it had come. Bit by bit, the  
small sounds of the forest returned. Someone whistled lightly ahead,  
the elf let go of my arm and took my hand again, and we resumed our  
journey.  
  
I pondered the elves' reaction to the helicopter as we walked along.  
I had never liked how loud and ominous helicopters sounded, and had  
felt a small sense of intrusion when they had flown over my house on  
occasion. At the same time, I loved flying, and I felt a  
contradictory sense of excitement when such an event occurred,  
sometimes waving and smiling up at them as they passed overhead. In  
the foothills where I lived, a helicopter was a symbol of reassurance,  
a reminder that help was nearby in the event of a wildfire or a lost  
or injured hiker. This helicopter had probably been a forestry one,  
no more threatening to me than an amateur pilot in a two-seater on a  
Sunday joyride. But the elves had truly felt threatened. Their  
concern for absolute secrecy, their need at all times to appear not to  
even exist, made my heart ache for them. There were evidently few of  
them remaining. I could just imagine how my race would treat them if  
they were discovered - the military and the scientists would get hold  
of them. They would be treated like aliens or criminals: removed from  
their homes, jailed away from nature, studied, interrogated,  
experimented on. It would be horrifying. They might never survive it.  
  
I finally realized the full impact of the risk they had assumed in  
order to confide in me, and in Adam. I resolved then and there to do  
anything necessary to maintain their anonymity, with my life if I had  
to. Yet, Lord Haldir had said that he didn't yet trust me. I now  
had no doubt that they would be honor-bound for their own protection  
to end my life themselves if the situation demanded it. I hoped I  
would not inadvertently do anything that would force them to make such  
a decision. I still didn't understand why swimming in the Linluin was  
forbidden, and hadn't been offered an explanation. My situation felt  
more than a little precarious: I knew nothing of their customs or  
what seemingly innocent thing I might do next to cause offense.  
  
Finally, at what seemed to be early afternoon, as my strength and what  
was left of my good humor were about to give out, we stopped for a  
long while to rest. Not having slept at all during the night, I  
immediately laid down with my head on my pack and took a nap, praying  
that I was not laying anywhere near a patch of poison oak. Bruno  
huffed and lay down next to me. My blindfold was becoming quite  
irritating, and I was feeling mildly claustrophobic though there was  
no way that I would admit such a weakness to His Lordship.  
  
I felt like I had just closed my eyes when Orodren awoke me, but the  
warmer air told me that it was probably late afternoon. Opening my  
eyes to the confines of the blindfold, at first my heart raced and I  
felt panic coming on. I raised my hands to the cloth and could hardly  
keep from ripping it off my head, but Orodren's hands on my own and a  
quick reassurance from him that we were near our destination calmed  
me.  
  
Chagrined, I hoped that none of the others nearby had noticed,  
especially Lord Haldir. I thanked Orodren quietly and he squeezed my  
arm gently in reply.  
  
I would have been just fine afterward, if it had not been for the  
tunnel.  
  
I had been talking quietly with an elf called Baronur, who was taking  
a turn guiding me along the trail. He paused, and, putting his hand  
on my head and instructing me to duck down, said that we must now go  
stooped and single file. Following him forward a few yards, I  
immediately felt the air become still and close, his voice become  
hollow. Reaching to the side with my free hand, I felt cold stone.  
Reaching up, I scraped my knuckles on more rock mere inches above my  
head, even bent over as I was. I pulled back on Baronur's hand and  
came to an abrupt halt, causing the following elf to bump into me.  
With elves close behind me and close ahead, and rock all around, there  
was no escape, no room, no air. I began to imagine the roof closing  
down on me. Taking deep breaths, I tried to curb the irrational panic  
that was rising inside me, but it fed on itself. I gasped out loud, I  
can't do this! I have to go back, please let me go back! I let go of  
Baronur's hand, reached involuntarily for the blindfold and backed  
into the elf blocking my way, who took hold of my arms, making me feel  
even more confined. I am embarrassed to write that at this point I  
was on the verge of completely losing it. My eyes swam under the  
darkness of the blindfold. Outside, I had to get outside!  
  
Lord Haldir had somehow slipped past Baronur, because the next thing I  
heard was his sure, resonating voice reaching me through the pounding  
of the blood in my ears, his strong hands on each side of my face.  
  
"Marian! Marian, you cannot go back and you must not yet remove your  
blindfold," he said evenly. "Come forward, we near the end of the  
passage."  
  
How much further, I asked in a voice that I was vaguely aware had  
grown childlike and high, though he had somewhat lessened my panic.  
  
"Twenty paces at most. Come," he repeated in a persuasive, non-  
demanding tone that further calmed me and helped me to breath almost  
normally again, and took my hand in both of his. "I will count them  
with you."  
  
"One," he began, and stepped forward, waiting patiently for me to  
follow, and placed one hand on my head. Shakily I took a step. As is  
so often the case, the first step was the most difficult. I followed  
him, feeling progressively better, until at last we emerged to fresh,  
moist air and the sound of trickling water.  
  
"There is no further need for this," the Elf-Lord declared, and I  
found myself outside between narrow clefts in the rock, face to face  
with him as he removed the blindfold.  
  
I blinked and shielded my eyes at the contrast between the bright sun  
above and the shadows that we stood in. Feeling absolutely mortified  
with myself, I looked down, holding back tears that were threatening  
to form in my eyes. They must all think me the worst kind of coward.  
I could just imagine what this haughty elf was going to say to me  
next.  
  
"Do not be ashamed," he said to my surprised relief. "The fault is  
ours. If we had known of your distress we would have better prepared  
you. Many of us suffered similar reactions long ago, when we first  
chose, for safety and secrecy's sake against the growing tides of men,  
to make this place our home.  
  
This surprises you," he commented when I could see well enough again  
to look up into his eyes. Blue! His eyes were a sparkling blue-gray,  
dark and changeable as a stormy sea. He looked at me now with knowing  
and at least some suggestion of tolerance. "The greater number of us  
are, or were, Galadrim - we dwelt above the earth, at home in the  
trees. We were not happy or. . . comfortable. . . below ground,  
confined, like. . . dwarves," he said with distaste. "Of necessity  
we have become accustomed to many things, though it is in the trees  
that our hearts still lie."  
  
Was this over-proud one, I wondered to myself, behind the resentful  
words, admitting to a mere mortal that elves were not perfect?  
  
Then the strangest thought came to me. That dragonfly girl or  
whatever she was called, I asked, the one that lived up in the tree  
for a year protesting old-growth logging, she wasn't one of you, was  
she?  
  
The elves behind us mumbled and looked around at each other  
innocently. If she wasn't one of them, they certainly seemed to know  
her.  
  
"We would not bring the attention of mortals to ourselves in such a  
way," Haldir commented briefly, then deftly changed the subject. "We  
will reach the gates presently. But first, we thought it might please  
you to see this."  
  
He led me around the corner of the rock face and paused. The narrow  
ravine that we entered was a delight in contrasts. At our feet a  
small, shallow stream trickled lazily through the sandy gravel bed  
onto which we stepped, meandering here and there through the shadows  
cast by the rock walls around and above us and turning a bend out of  
sight some ways ahead. A mere ten feet or so between the walls  
allowed a gentle path to wind in the granular soil beside and through  
the stream. The sides of the ravine rose above us some thirty of  
forty feet to the sky and the trees above. From the base to the very  
top the walls were scattered narrow rock shelves and fissures in which  
were perched a multitude of small ferns cascading over the rock and  
each other, in some places blanketing the stone surface so that it  
could scarcely be seen. There were more varieties of ferns than I had  
ever seen: Maidenhairs, brackens, and others delicate and fragile,  
some as tiny as a fingernail, all dripping with cool moisture.  
  
Above, the dazzling late afternoon sun slanted onto the upper face of  
one side of the little canyon, casting the other overhanging wall and  
the space below in which we stood into enchanting shadow. The wet  
ferns above sparkled in the dappled, shifting light that slanted  
through the trees above in the wind. All about was soft, cool, and  
filled with dualities: light and dark, wet and dry, restfulness and  
movement, peaceful quiet and the soft, gentle sounds of the water and  
the trees.  
  
I turned to see that the Elf Lord had been watching me intently.  
  
"You sense in the olvar, the trees and plants, some small measure of  
the Song of Iluvatar, as Lindir has told me. That is at least of some  
comfort."  
  
I worked hard to stifle a possibly inappropriate response regarding  
how I felt about his comfort. Was he trying to test my patience,  
weigh my level of maturity? So be it; I wouldn't give him the  
satisfaction of making me lose my composure.  
  
Then he turned deftly, almost militarily, his cloak and robes swirling  
obediently around to follow his tall, erect frame, and led the way  
along the stream. His feet and the others' made no mark or sound on  
the path, while mine crunched and slipped in the gravel as I followed  
along, leaving telltale footprints. We kept to the darker shadows  
under the wall that overhung the stream, perhaps, I thout, to avoid  
the intruding eyes of satellites that might pass overhead, but the  
occasional stray shaft of sunlight broke through to glisten and play  
on the pure silver-blond of the elf's hair, hair that surrounded his  
head and shoulders like a heavy, liquid crown. How I longed at those  
moments to stop him in one of the beams of sunlight and loosen his  
braids, run my fingers through that lustrous mane, imagining how soft  
it might feel, how warm the intimate nape of his neck would be beneath  
it. . .  
  
Shaking my head to knock some sense into myself, I continued to  
follow, calling for Bruno, who had disappeared ahead as soon as we  
emerged from the tunnel. Of course, he didn't come. Lord Haldir  
turned around and gave me a look that I thought was rather mocking.  
  
His name is not my fault, I said, and he turned without comment to  
lead us on once more. Well, that certainly was mature, Marian, I  
mumbled under my breath. I swear he heard me.  
  
As we proceeded further along the stream I had a growing sense that we  
were being watched, but I could see or hear no one. We rounded the  
bend to see that the ravine continued on much as before, but at this  
late time of day lay in deeper shadow. There was still no sign of  
Bruno, and I called for him again.  
  
About halfway to the next bend in the stream our small party halted  
and turned to face the north wall of the ravine. I looked at the  
wall, then at the elves in confusion. The uneven surface, covered  
with ferns, looked no different to me than any other part of the wall,  
and I wondered what their interest in it was.  
  
Lord Haldir then stepped up close to the wall, ferns brushing his  
shoulders. He took a step to the left. . . and simply disappeared.  
  
I looked at Orodren for explanation. His only reply was to mime to me  
that I was to follow Lord Haldir's example.  
  
Feeling ridiculous, I stepped forward in exactly the same place, my  
nose almost touching the wall in front of me. Then I reached  
tentatively out with my left foot, my left arm held up beside me just  
in case, and stepped to my left, sure that I was going to simply run  
into the wall. Instead, I found myself behind it, facing a waiting  
Elf Lord and a shallow but high depression closed to the sky above, in  
which was tightly set a pair of tall, elegantly carved gray doors. At  
their sides two lanterns glowed.  
  
I grinned at Lord Haldir in delight, and stepped to the right and  
back. I found myself out in the ravine again with Orodren and the  
others, staring at what looked like an unbroken rock wall covered in  
ferns. It was a perfect optical illusion. Even then, examining the  
wall from different angles and knowing that the opening was there, I  
couldn't see it.  
  
I stepped back into the recess and the other elves followed.  
  
I gave my attention at last to the tall wooden doors bathed in the  
soft glow of the lanterns, their color blending perfectly with the  
surrounding rock, their edges a barely perceptible line, with no  
hinges or door knobs or pulls to be seen. It was the beautifully  
carved design on their faces that emphasized and revealed their  
function as an entrance. In the center was carved a great tree-trunk,  
half on each leaf of the door. The trunk spread into ample, almost  
horizontal branches which then bent upward, like supporting hands.  
Indeed, born on the branches and hidden between the broad leaves  
spreading in exquisite patterns across the doors were carved ladders,  
stairs and suspension bridges leading to an expansive platform high  
above the ground. On this platform, almost as on the deck of a ship,  
was carved a great, open house of intricate design and pleasing  
proportions, its organic columns and canopies seeming almost to grow  
out of the tree itself, portions of its balconies and stairs seeming  
to defy gravity. A couple, in robes similar to Lord Haldir's, was  
shown standing on the platform hand in hand, carved rays radiating  
from their forms like a halo. Galadhrim, I wondered? All around the  
outer rim of the doors ran calligraphy of some sort that was  
unfamiliar to me, in the way of Japanese or Arabic script, but  
resembling neither. The artistry of the carvers, the skill and  
craftsmanship of the doors and their fit in the wall were of amazing  
quality.  
  
I have never seen a tree like this before, I started to say to him,  
but at that moment Bruno came galloping into the recess where we stood  
and right up to the Elf Lord, soaking wet and muddy from his belly  
down and with a giant, panting grin on his big fuzzy face.  
  
No! I cried at him, lunging to grab his collar, but it was too late:  
He shook himself thoroughly, muddy water flying everywhere, including  
all over me. Wincing, I looked at Lord Haldir's mud-splashed boots  
and his robes and cloak whose fronts were now splattered with wet,  
muddy stains. Finally, thoroughly ashamed, I looked up at his face,  
where a single drip of mud sat on his cheekbone.  
  
I swallowed hard. He had raised his chin imperiously and stood  
glaring down his nose at me in what I was learning to recognize as one  
of his most effective intimidating and disapproving poses. His eyes  
flashed darkly with disgust that bored down into my very soul and. .  
. something else, but what?  
  
I am SO sorry, I forced out, horrified, quickly snapped the leash on  
Bruno, who was of course innocently wagging his tail, and reined him  
in.  
  
With mud on both of our faces, the Elf-Lord's regal, offended pose and  
his calculated silence suddenly struck me as extremely funny. I  
squeezed my lips together unsuccessfully. I put my hand up to try and  
cover the smile that was uncontrollably forming on my face. I  
clenched both sides of my mouth to try and force my muscles back into  
a look of serious regret. My eyes watered as the pressure built.  
Dear God, I prayed, don't let me laugh out loud!  
  
Glancing around at the other elves, I found that their condition was  
much the same as mine, though much better hidden.  
  
Turning back to Lord Haldir, I took my hand away from my mouth. I  
don't know what gave me the courage or foolhardiness to do it, but,  
carefully, I reached out with my thumb and wiped the mud drip off of  
his face. I offered to make amends by cleaning his robes myself as  
soon as possible.  
  
His intense and flashing eyes shifted almost imperceptibly to more of  
a hard glitter.  
  
"We seem to be adding to your list," was his only dire comment, as he  
turned toward the doors and, placing one hand on his heart and  
sweeping the other out with hand up in a humble gesture, bowed before  
them.  
  
"Echuivo-honda mallorn, ad lasto-nin, panno-lin elu au nin!"1  
  
Immediately two elves, invisible to my eyes until they moved, stepped  
forward from the shadows of the recess, one from each side of the  
door, and saluted the Elf Lord with a scimitar held before them. The  
great doors opened inward as if by their own volition. Beyond the  
doors, wavering in warm lantern-light, was a wide, vaulted passage  
carved smooth in the rock. I could see more lanterns twinkling beyond  
in a distant light like the dusk that was falling outside.  
  
My heart skipped a beat as Lord Haldir turned ceremoniously toward me  
and motioned for me to proceed.  
  
"Adaneth elvellon, tulo-nin au honda edhelen."2  
  
Even though I did not know his words, I understood from his resonant  
tone of voice and the grave look in his deeply expressive eyes the  
import of this moment.  
  
Unused to such formalities, I searched for the right words to say to  
him.  
  
I am most highly honored by your welcome, I responded, placing my hand  
on my heart and bowing my head in imitation of his gesture at the  
doors, hoping I had sufficiently communicated what I felt inside.  
Then I motioned that I would follow him.  
  
He nodded slightly in cautious acknowledgement or satisfaction, and we  
entered.  
  
The long corridor walls were painted with scene after scene of gallant  
elves in various activities. They seemed to be historical events,  
battles, ceremonies, errantry, or images of heavenly landscapes and  
glowing figures. They reminded me somewhat of French tapestries.  
Peering closer, I noted that some paintings even seemed to hold men,  
or small children.  
  
We came to the end of the corridor where two more guards saluted Lord  
Haldir. He acknowledged them with a small nod. Then, as we emerged  
onto a great marble balcony, Lord Haldir took my arm firmly in his  
own. I was appreciative that he did, for the view I found before me  
made senses reel , my mouth drop, and my knees buckle.  
  
"Behold Methentaurond, the Last Elf-Halls of the Great Forest, wrought  
throughout the beginnings of this age!"  
  
* * * * *  
  
1Awaken, heart (center) of the mallorn, and hear me, open your heart  
(feelings) to me!  
2Woman (of the three houses) elf-friend, come into the heart of the  
Elves.  
  
" 


	10. Ch 10: Of Stars in Shadow Shimmering

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1 for disclaimer.  
  
CHAPTER 10: OF STARS IN SHADOW SHIMMERING*  
  
5 September  
  
This afternoon I situated myself on the balcony from which I received  
my first sight of Methentaurond. I have started from the back of this  
journal and am attempting to sketch the strange, enchanting and  
breathtaking panorama that lies before me.  
  
I have not drawn freehand in years! Yet, I am finding that the skill  
is slowly coming back to me, and I am struggling much less than I had  
anticipated.  
  
Meanwhile, the two sentries guarding the entrance to these marvelous,  
magical halls are unsuccessfully pretending not to look over my  
shoulder.  
  
At first I wished for a camera. I am glad now that I do not have such  
a seductively easy crutch to entrust a record of this place to. For  
that is what I feel compelled to do; I do not want to miss, or forget,  
anything. And, I feel an urgent need to learn, to absorb and  
understand everything I see the best that I can. Do I fear it will be  
lost? Perhaps; I don't know. I wish I was younger, sharper, so I  
could notice things and remember better.  
  
I expressed as much to Lindir this morning. My mind could only absorb  
a fraction of what he and the others had shown me. I stopped him mid-  
day and told him that first I needed time to absorb what I have  
already seen, or I would be overwhelmed. Drawing something, I said,  
was like meditating on that thing. It forced me to observe well - the  
largest patterns, the tiniest details, the changing play of light and  
reflection that gives a thing its depth, its life.  
  
It was the same, he said, with music.  
  
Last night we had emerged from the entrance hall into the upper  
portion of a great cavern whose roof was delineated by points of light  
scattered like constellations of stars. The volume of the space was a  
shock; the beauty of the place in the gathering night was staggering.  
I could not have imagined anything like it; the very thought that such  
a place could exist, above ground or below, was beyond my  
comprehension.  
  
Here and there in the growing darkness - for it seemed as much  
twilight now within the cavern as without - the forms behind the  
impressions and shadows were revealed by the soft, golden glow of  
countless lanterns. Before us, achieving what spiritual awe the  
Gothic cathedrals only attempted in their own beauty and lightness to  
achieve, were vaults that appeared to have grown like spreading tree  
roots, drawn together and braided into twisting pillars that reached  
for the floor like stalagtites, yet with spreading branches and leaves  
as well, from which more lanterns were hung, strewn among them like  
fireflies. Rising to meet and intertwine with them like stalagmites  
were pillars of what might have been carved wood or stone. In this  
light the line between what was built and what was natural was  
impossible to define. The effect was that of an underground forest as  
tall as the redwoods outside. Cast between the pillars and the cavern  
walls were platforms and bridges and dwellings that were the very  
embodiment of that which had been carved on the entrance doors.  
  
Looking down, here also were shelves and balconies and terraces  
extending from the cavern walls, connecting to the bridges of the tree-  
pillars. Beyond the balconies soft lights glowed from openings in the  
walls of the cavern itself, suggesting that both small rooms and large  
chambers had been carved into the living rock as well.  
  
To the right, a dizzying distance below the balcony on which we stood,  
a gentle river whose edges were strung with lights flowed along one  
side of the cavern wall, the forest on the other, falling from one  
height to the next in a series of small waterfalls, cascading from  
shelf to shelf, disappearing in the darkening haze in the distance.  
  
Far below to the left was layered dark form on dark form, of what I  
could not tell, except for a feeling of openness.  
  
The cool air was heady with moisture and a clean smell like trees with  
an undercurrent of tilled soil- not a dank, musty cave smell at all,  
but a fresh, growing, living scent. And there was the murmuring sound  
of water falling on stone, lullaby-like, restful and delicate and  
pervasive.  
  
An intricately carved great stairway arched around to our right, and  
down these flights of steps Lord Haldir silently led me, Bruno's nails  
tap-tapping echoes on the marble.  
  
How. . . how are those terrace supported, they are too thin, I  
asked, the spans are too long. . . can we look at them now?  
  
"In the morning, when it is light."  
  
The morning, how can you see the morning in here, I asked. Wait, I  
begged, hanging over the railing and pointing at a dwelling that  
seemed to float between the trees and the side of the cavern, that. .  
. that is structurally impossible! How do you do that?  
  
Wait, slow down! Wood can't do that, that can't be wood. What kind  
of material is that?  
  
Isn't that's a birdbath? There are BIRDS in here?  
  
Those trees, those columns, redwoods don't grow like that, they don't  
DO THAT. Where's my flashlight?  
  
I stopped and searched feverishly through my pack with the hand that  
wasn't attached to Bruno's leash.  
  
Lord Haldir stopped me with a firm hand on my arm.  
  
"That would be exceedingly rude. Now, you will change," he ordered,  
looking at my muddy clothes pointedly, "and you will dine with us in  
the Hall. You will then be shown your quarters, for you are in need  
of sleep. In the morning, you will be shown all that you wish to  
see."  
  
I nodded, suppressing the limitless questions flying through my head  
as Lord Haldir walked ahead down the broad steps. I stood still for a  
moment, overwhelmed. Orodren took my arm and asked me what I was  
doing. I told him I was trying to make sure I could still breathe.  
Bruno pushed his wet nose impatiently into my hand.  
  
What should I do with my dog, I asked Lord Haldir's back.  
  
He turned and said that Bruno would be taken to the stables, where he  
would be comfortable, and fed. One of the elves we had traveled with  
offered to take the leash.  
  
The stables? I repeated in shock as I handed off Bruno, and Lord  
Haldir walked on ahead. Well, at least I wouldn't have to continue to  
worry about impending accidents on the marble floor. I squatted down  
and scratched Bruno behind the ears, telling him I would come see him  
tomorrow, and that if he marked territory on anything between here and  
there that he would pay dearly.  
  
* * * * *  
  
After having stopped to change into my one other clean set of  
clothing, I was accompanied into the Hall by Orodren.  
  
The Great Hall was the largest and most unusual structure I had yet  
seen in the cavern. Carved into and projecting out of the cliffs on  
one side of the river, the Hall was set with a broad terrace that in  
stronger light must command all of Methentaurond. One gained the  
terrace from stairs on either side, leading to a great, high, curved  
veil of rock that had been made so thin as to be translucent, its  
veins of colors and transparencies visible like a thunder egg which  
looks plain and uninteresting on the outside but when split and sliced  
and polished reveals its secret inner beauty; its convex surface  
glowed from the light within the Hall like a soft beacon in the night.  
Whether it had been carved from the living rock or built to resemble  
it I couldn't tell, but it spoke of the perfect essence of what being  
rock was all about.  
  
Behind this veil and past the sentries that guarded the entrances, the  
Hall itself was large and high, with lanterns set around it behind  
translucent stone like the entrance, its walls carved with delicate  
bas-reliefs of plants and animals that seemed to grow from the floor  
and intertwine intricately above. Examining the carving more closely  
as we walked inside, I saw that it was not consistent, but that at  
each place in the natural stone that was of particular beauty or held  
crystals or other unique features, the carvings varied to accommodate  
and celebrate these natural elements instead of the carver's own work  
self-importantly ignoring or covering them. The more I looked, the  
greater respect and awe I had for the craftspeople that honored the  
cliffs as importantly as the people as they coaxed the Great Hall into  
being.  
  
The floor itself was set with varied colors and textures of stone.  
Other arched stone passages radiated from the hall further into the  
interior. The style reminded me of Celtic knots, Art Nouveau,  
Nepalese jewelry, and the interwoven geometric shapes, flowers and  
vines of Turkish tiles, yet was none of these. It was something  
entirely different; finer, lovelier, like it was the perfect adornment  
from which all of the others had sprung. Although lofty, the space  
soothed the spirit and was surprisingly warm and comfortable.  
  
The elves gathered inside smiled serenely or quietly laughed in  
conversation. Yet, I felt an air of melancholy just beneath the  
surface.  
  
I was welcomed by several of them with solemn reserve and mild  
curiosity, and learned my first elvish phrase: "Mae govannen," which  
means "well met" or "welcome."  
  
Some had varying shades of brown hair, although blond or silver were  
clearly predominant. For the most part the females wore simple,  
flattering long gowns and the males wore tunics and leggings similar  
to Orodren's and Lindir's, though a few males were dressed in robes  
like Lord Haldir's. Each person looked as though they were in the  
prime of their life, the only indication, perhaps, of greater age or  
wisdom a stronger glow or aura about some of them and the greater  
deference paid to them by the others. I felt both childlike and old  
among them.  
  
All were beautiful and wise in their features and graceful in their  
movements, though none, to my eye, moved with as much delicious grace  
and controlled power, or as precisely and harmoniously with his  
surroundings as did the Elf Lord. I looked from elf to elf in the  
Hall hoping to find him, knowing that he would not be difficult to  
notice if he was there.  
  
As I looked toward one of the inner passages, Lord Haldir emerged, and  
immediately all eyes in the Hall were directed his way, conversations  
quieted and those who were seated stood. How he filled a room with  
his presence!  
  
Wearing clean robes, he nodded in greeting to those gathered in the  
Hall. This seemed to be a signal for them to relax and continue their  
activities.  
  
Sooner than I had expected his eyes found mine. I was mesmerized; I  
tracked his progress across the room toward Orodren and me in a slow-  
motion trance of catching and then losing sight of him as people  
crossed in front of him or stopped to greet him, but measuring his  
progress by his crown of silver-gold hair that was visible above  
almost all of the other heads in the room. After an eternity he  
reached us, Lindir now at his side, and he offered me a seat at the  
table on his left. It contained mostly delicious-smelling bread,  
greens, dried fruit, and pitchers of an almost-clear liquid, but with  
small platters of what looked like pheasant or quail. No fatty fried  
foods for this crowd.  
  
The drink had been passed around, and Lord Haldir had stood, on the  
verge of a toast of some sort, when an elf I recognized as Gladrel  
entered the Hall. She bowed before him slightly, nodded to me in  
recognition, and engaged him in a low and urgent conversation. She  
was clearly distressed, and as she spoke Haldir's features clouded.  
Abruptly he excused himself and followed her out of the room. The  
conversations around me died, and no one seemed to want to eat.  
  
I looked across the table at Lindir, but he only shook his head. I  
looked at my plate. I couldn't just sit there knowing something was  
wrong. I pushed back my chair and left the Hall through the door they  
had used and out into the cavern. There they were, swiftly passing  
under a lantern some ways along the path ahead. I chose what I hoped  
was the correct bridge when Lindir joined me, taking my arm, and we  
followed them.  
  
Soon they stopped and entered one of a series of connecting dwellings  
comfortably nestled among the tree-pillars. Lindir directed me across  
several more bridges and terraces, and we paused in the open doorway.  
Lord Haldir knelt next to Gladrel before a male elf that lay on a  
divan, covered by a quilt. Haldir placed his hands firmly on the  
elf's chest as he had on my shoulder, bending low and intently  
repeating something to him.  
  
A female elf nervously sat next to the elf on the divan. Noticing us  
in the doorway, she rose and silently motioned for us to enter.  
Lindir went immediately to her and placed a comforting arm around her  
shoulder. I entered as quietly as I could and stood at the end of the  
divan. I am Allinde, she said, polite even in her distress, and this  
is Callo. Callo looked at me with dull eyes and tried to sit up, but  
Haldir quieted him. I bowed my head slightly in greeting and tried to  
give him an encouraging smile.  
  
The elf appeared ill, drained of energy, the aura that flowed from him  
weak. Allinde looked at Haldir, her hands twisting in her lap, as  
though hoping he would deny what she saw before her. Haldir clasped  
Callo by the arm in reassurance and said a few more words to him, then  
rose and drew Allinde aside, holding her hand and speaking to her and  
Gladrel in a low voice. His words seemed to comfort her, and she  
nodded now and again.  
  
I was beginning to see why, even with his overbearing attitude,  
scathing judgements, and his obvious distrust of those not of his own  
kind, Haldir's people showed him such deep and obvious loyalty.  
Beneath the hard, thick veneer, beneath the imperious walls that he  
had constructed around himself so thoroughly, I could now and again  
see small hints of a level of honor and depth of heart that I could  
only guess at. Here was a stern leader, I thought, whose good opinion  
or kind word one would go to the ends of the earth to earn. I wanted  
to see more, know him better.  
  
Then he took his leave and indicated with his eyes that Lindir and I  
should come with him. We followed him out and back along the path,  
and I strained to keep up with his pace. I wished he would stop and  
explain what was wrong with this elf that my heart went out to. Some  
distance along the path he finally paused, agitated, and turned to  
address me.  
  
"You see now why we have been compelled to bring you here. Another of  
us begins to fade with the sickness of the world and we can do nothing  
to prevent it."  
  
What will happen to him, I asked.  
  
"He will die," Haldir said bitterly, as though death was an  
unthinkable thing for an elf, and he turned to walk again along the  
path.  
  
But you can't just give up on him, I demanded as I tried to keep up  
with him.  
  
Why did you bring me here, I asked when he didn't answer. I'm not a  
doctor or a healer, I'm just an architect, and it's abundantly clear  
that you don't need one here. What can I do?  
  
"You can learn," he said urgently, "as much and as quickly as you are  
able."  
  
He stopped abruptly as we reached the terrace of the Hall once more.  
"We will teach you, as the Valar intended; we will completely make way  
for you at last. The world changes ever more rapidly and we have  
failed to protect all that is fair and good. We have seen enough;  
endured enough. I will not tarry longer, to see more of us fade and  
die!  
  
Sighing heavily he looked out across the glittering cavern. "We do  
not understand the hearts of Men; why you restlessly shape and change  
Arda even beyond the Song of the Valar. Perhaps we were not meant to  
see this come to pass, for it pains us greatly."  
  
If I learn what you have to teach, I asked him, will Callo get better?  
  
"No," he replied with finality, gripping the edge of the railing, "it  
is too late for the Elves. Whether you will finally touch the earth  
lightly and heal Arda and yourselves, or whether you will persist in  
causing every living system to decline until all is forsaken, will be  
your choice.  
  
Have you ever seen the wise trees of Tar-caranorn fall, Marian?" he  
asked in dismay.  
  
Yes, I have seen one fall, I told him, moving away from Lindir to  
stand with him at the railing. I told him of the college scholarship  
I and some of my other classmates had received from a lumber company  
in my home town, and how they had taken us out into a stand of old  
growth redwood to show us how much skill was involved in cutting one  
down. How the trunks held so much water that they must lay a bed of  
soil and branches behind them so that when they fell they wouldn't  
shatter like a watermelon, and how they could direct the trees to fall  
precisely into the bed. They meant it as a treat.  
  
"Was it a treat, Marian?"  
  
No, I told him, remembering. When the cutting and wedging was done  
and the chainsaws fell silent, when the tree at last tilted and began  
to fall, the heartwood ripping and cracking, it sounded like a scream,  
I said, a long, sad scream.  
  
"Did you take the money?" he said, and turned to fix me with an  
unreadable, penetrating gaze.  
  
I knew this was a pivotal question, and I knew I had to answer it  
truthfully. Yes, I said, looking him squarely in the eye, I took the  
money. We did not recognize then that what we were doing was wrong, I  
protested when I saw his expression. I was eighteen years old. These  
were our neighbors, the community that raised us. I could have said  
no; it wasn't that much money. But I was not about to insult them or  
embarrass my parents.  
  
Every decision is not black or white, I said. I did what I thought  
was right.  
  
He said then with a shielded look that it was in the shades of gray  
that Men's hearts so often went astray.  
  
Excuse me, I said, losing my temper. The flet outside by the Linluin,  
the dwellings in these trees, aren't they wood? Didn't you cut down  
trees to build your homes, just like us?  
  
Lindir stepped forward to argue, but Lord Haldir stopped him with a  
raised hand.  
  
"It is a fair question, Lindir. "Yes, we use the gifts of the forest  
as well. But," he emphasized, "We use only what we truly need and we  
respect the forest and the land when we do.  
  
You must learn to see the Truth through the gray, Marian," he said  
sternly. "You must - what is the mortal, American phrase? - "get off  
of the fence."  
  
I told him that I WAS off of the fence, that's why I had come with  
them.  
  
"We shall see," he replied in a heavy tone laced with doubt, his wise,  
bold eyes measuring me once more. "You have seen much this evening  
that is new to you. You are weary. We will speak further of this  
tomorrow, you and I. Tonight and all nights you may linger with us  
and hear the songs and tales of the elves, or you may go directly to  
your rest, as you wish." And with that he excused himself and  
reentered the Hall.  
  
Lindir and I stood together uncomfortably on the terrace for a moment.  
Lindir, I said finally, if the First were meant to teach the Second,  
and we to learn from you, surely the differences between us can't be  
so great. Men love and value the earth and its beauty too.  
  
It is power, not beauty, that Men seek, he replied heatedly.  
  
I was hurt that this elf who I wanted to be a friend should be so  
angry with me.  
  
We are not all like that, Lindir, I felt I had to say. You know this  
- you know me.  
  
I do not know you and you do not know me, he said, then seemed to  
reconsider his words. But we will learn of each other, he said in a  
calmer voice. Come, listen to our tales, Marian, and you will begin  
to know us, he offered, and I reentered the Great Hall with him as  
sweet elven voices raised in song around us.  
  
* * * * *  
  
I awoke this morning to an insistent knock on the door of my chambers.  
I was in the middle of a deep, dream-filled sleep where Lindir played  
on a harp, singing filled the air, and trees danced in the dark,  
swinging lanterns and circling like dervishes around and around and...  
  
I dragged myself out from under the cozy covers on my bed, walked  
sleepily into the front room and opened the door to squint bleary-eyed  
at the strikingly gorgeous but impatient female in the doorway. She  
dumped a package in my arms and said that Lord Haldir had bid her to  
deliver it to me, and moved on without another word.  
  
Good morning to you, too, I mumbled as I closed the door and put the  
package on the table. I looked around at the daylit room and decided  
that I had better get washed and dressed; it looked like I had slept  
late. But first I would open the package and. . . . .and it  
finally registered in my groggy brain that it was DAYLIGHT in my room.  
  
I looked up through the curved framed-glass structure that was the  
ceiling, ran to the door and flung it open, stepped out onto the flet-  
like deck and looked up again to the vaulted canopy. Scattered swirls  
of mist hung high in the trees near the roof, and a soft light  
permeated the entire cavern. A few of lanterns still glowed along the  
darker paths. It was about as bright as an overcast day or the shady  
floor of a tall forest would be outside. How was this possible? I  
would have to wait for Lindir to find out, I supposed.  
  
I went back inside and washed briefly in a room with fixtures that  
were somewhat recognizable. Some thoughtful person had put out towels  
and toiletries in beautiful tinted glass bottles, but I couldn't find  
anything that resembled a bathtub. I settled for putting back on my  
cleanest clothes from the night before. In a small curtained alcove  
with a wardrobe there was a long mirror in which I determined that I  
was relatively presentable. I would have to unpack my things sooner  
or later. Then I went to examine the package on the table in the  
front room.  
  
Untying the cord and unfolded the material that had been bound in it,  
I saw that it was finely woven in supple forest tones, blue-grays and  
subtle greens and rusts that seemed to be the colors of choice here  
for fashion as well as camouflage. Then I saw the mud stains.  
  
The nerve! If this had been from Jason I would have laughed at being  
had, but as it was, I don't know what message this little gift carried  
except that I had offered to clean Lord Haldir's robes and he expected  
me to be true to my word. I wondered if the method of delivery  
indicated a sharp sense of humor, or just a puffed-up ego. I am  
looking forward to finding out - this elf intrigues me in a way that  
no other male ever has.  
  
I added my own dirty clothes to the pile. Not only did I need to find  
a bathtub, but I also needed to find the laundry.  
  
I was rescued by Allinde, who arrived at my door to show me to a  
bathing pool not far away, fed by the nearby river and tucked into an  
alcove in the cliffs. It was protected from view by a tall hedge and  
a billowy suspended fabric roof. This pool was one of many, she  
said, scattered among the dwellings, and was for female use only. The  
water was pleasantly warm and steamy, and although I was curious how  
this was accomplished, at the moment I was more interested in getting  
clean and talking to my companion.  
  
At first I was very uncomfortable with her, not sure how she felt  
about me, considering that Callo had become so ill. I wondered if it  
was a coincidence that she was asked to accompany me, but I doubted  
very much if anything happened by coincidence under Lord Haldir's  
watch. Asking after Callo, I learned that he was bound to her cousin,  
who had sailed to Valinor long ago.  
  
When I asked what that meant, to be bound to someone, she explained  
that it meant they were soul-mates, two spirits that were meant to  
find each other, partners for all eternity. It was something that  
every elf hoped to find.  
  
I commented that I had been bound - married - to Kevin until he died.  
What would her cousin do if Callo died, I asked. She would know,  
Allinde said, even across the wide Sea that separated them - she would  
feel it, and grieve. Allinde hoped her grief would not cause her to  
fade and die as well, for an elf could die of grief at the loss of a  
soul-mate. But she would be with her soon, to comfort her.  
  
In spite of the tragedy of Callo's situation, I came to realize as we  
talked that she did not blame me personally for his condition.  
Rather, she took it to be fate, coming from their decision to stay in  
Arda for so long. Although she loved her cousin's soul-mate and would  
miss him sorely, someday they would meet again, in Valinor. Her  
humility and her faith touched me deeply.  
  
Was she bound to someone, I asked. No, not yet, she replied, but  
Lindir was. Then she eyed me perceptively and said that Lindir didn't  
blame me, either. Callo was a dear friend, and Lindir had been  
shocked last night to see him take ill. I must forgive him for  
becoming angry; his was a sensitive soul, a poet at heart.  
  
Remembering last night in the Great Hall, I wondered out loud that  
Lindir was a march warden, a historian, wrote music and played the  
harp and the lute more beautifully than anyone I had ever heard - was  
there nothing that Lindir didn't do?  
  
Allinde smiled and explained that with so few of them remaining - some  
hundred or so in Methentaurond, and only a few out among the world of  
Men, that each had to take on many roles. Immortality also provided  
endless opportunities to pursue and discover one's hidden talents.  
Look at Lord Haldir, she offered, and here her eyes glowed with  
reverence and pride. He was a great and wise leader, a warrior whose  
skills and accomplishments were legendary, his abilities with a bow  
and sword perfection.  
  
Yes, I said, I had an opportunity to experience his skill with a bow,  
and she laughed. All of Methentaurond, she said, had indulged in the  
full tale by now.  
  
But, she continued, he was also a wood-carver - a sculptor - and a  
fine gardener as well. He even, she confided, played the harp. But I  
mustn't let on that I knew, she said with a conspiratorial twinkle in  
her eye. He was not as good at it as some, and he only played when he  
thought no one was listening.  
  
The thought that the very serious, the very intimidating, the very  
perfect Lord Haldir might be shy about something sent a sweet tingle  
through my chest that I tried to ignore.  
  
So, everyone is not good at everything, I asked.  
  
Oh no, she said. One must discover one's natural abilities. She  
would never, she shuddered dramatically, ask Lindir to draw an apple  
on a piece of parchment, much less paint one of his histories on the  
cavern walls.  
  
Lindir! she said, bidding me to rise out of the water. He would be  
waiting with Gladrel to show me the laundry. I would enjoy that, she  
was sure, she said with enthusiasm.  
  
While we dressed I wondered what I could possibly find interesting  
about a laundry, especially since it would most definitely not be  
automatic. There didn't seem to be any electricity anywhere, though  
everything was so well thought out that one hardly missed it. I  
hadn't seen a computer, a telephone, a refrigerator, or as much as one  
light bulb anywhere. I wondered that I wasn't going through internet  
withdrawals. Come to think of it, an icy coke would be nice. No ice,  
no ice anywhere. I would have to ask.  
  
What were her interests, I inquired, as we strolled downstream on the  
smooth path by the river.  
  
She blew glass, she said. In fact, she had made the containers that I  
had found in my room, and she blushed when I told her how beautiful I  
thought they were. But her first love was languages. She spoke many  
fluently, both ancient and common Elvish, and several of the Germanic  
languages. At the moment she was learning Arabic. She would teach me  
Elvish, if I wished.  
  
I warned her that I was terrible at languages and knew only my own  
well, but she said she would enjoy the challenge. Oh, and I must  
visit their library with her. She had already translated some volumes  
into English, in anticipation of my arrival. How had she learned so  
many languages, I inquired. She explained briefly that she and a few  
of the others went among the world of Men on occasion for the  
gathering of news and to teach what they could. They had only been  
marginally successful, however, she said sadly, in their influence.  
  
How then, I asked in confusion, did we not know of their existence?  
To which she replied mysteriously that men only saw what the elves  
wanted them to see. I thought back a few days to when I had first met  
Lindir, Orodren and Gladrel. I had not at first seen their true  
nature.  
  
We passed the last of the dwellings and came upon a great pantheon of  
tree-pillars, inside of which the cavern ceiling rose in a huge  
unsupported vault. Below the vault was a wide clearing with a small  
lake at its center. I looked back in the direction we had come and  
tried to find the balcony of the entrance hall. This must be the open  
area that I had sensed the night before. Now I saw that the clearing  
was set about with a many large, delicate glass structures springing  
from the bases of the circle of pillars and glowing with light. As we  
walked closer to these ethereal buildings I saw that they were each  
fed with a small trickling stream from the lake, and were filled with  
plants.  
  
I thought we were going to meet Lindir at the laundry, I said.  
  
This is the laundry, Allinde said with a twinkle in her eye as she  
opened the door to one of the greenhouses, and we stepped inside.  
  
Again, I was astounded by the organic nature of the architecture that  
so simply expressed both the artistic skills of the builders and the  
potential of the materials. Reminding me somewhat of the ceiling of  
my rooms, the structure was a symphony in wood and glass. The builder  
had orchestrated the nature and structure of wood and glass and light  
to play together in perfect harmony. But so perfectly did the  
architecture complement and express itself as background that it was  
the park-like paradise inside that caught my rapt attention.  
  
Streamwater cascaded from pool to pool set around the interior - at  
waist height were warm, steaming vats that trickled progressively into  
cooler, lower pools one by one, each filled with different varieties  
of lush water plants and fountains, then emptied into a final sandy  
bog that allowed the water to trickle out of the building and  
presumably back to the lake or on to other greenhouses. Like a small  
rainforest, other, taller plants sprang from the sandy ground inside,  
trees and vines that hung over the pools, some trailing flowered  
branches in the water.  
  
The building was deserted except for Lindir and Gladrel, who sat in a  
circle of wooden benches and worktables by the vats and rose as we  
entered.  
  
I was delighted to see Gladrel again. She had exchanged her warden  
uniform for a long, practical-looking short-sleeved gown and a sturdy  
smock with pockets from which peeked a variety of useful-looking  
implements.  
  
When Lindir indicated that Gladrel was in charge of the laundry, my  
first thought was that elves might be as sexist as the rest of the  
world. But as I listened to her animatedly describing how it worked I  
came to realize how dependent on Gladrel's skills the entire community  
was. She was what we would call a master gardener. She was in her  
element; the silent reticence she had exhibited in the forest melted  
away as she took a pair of my hiking pants and showed me what to do,  
always patiently answering my many "why " and "how" questions.  
  
The first vats near the worktables were for washing and rinsing the  
clothing, which was then hung in a wide passage with many doors  
between greenhouses to dry. The soaps used for washing were plant-  
based and dissolved easily into the water. Water plants and small  
fish in the progressive pools below fed upon these soaps and soil from  
the clothing, and in doing so cleaned and purified the water. The  
water then flowed along with other water from the lake and entered  
other greenhouses where food was grown for the community. The bathing  
pools, Allinde added, functioned in much the same way.  
  
Never was any water that was used by the elves returned to the river  
in anything but the same pure state that it entered the caverns. If  
these systems were compromised, Lindir commented, if the plants fell  
sick and died, if the water somehow became tainted, there would be  
serious consequences for the community. Gladrel and the elves that  
worked with her in the gardens were highly respected by all, and it  
was a great honor to be counted among them.  
  
I had saved Lord Haldir's robes for last; they looked and felt more  
like candidates for dry cleaning than being dunked into the water, but  
Gladrel assured me that I need not be nervous, they would be fine. I  
reluctantly pushed them down into the warm, slightly soapy, fragrant  
water, praying that the stains would come out and the fabric wouldn't  
be ruined. Gladrel laughed and reached in to help me, assuring me  
that I didn't need to treat them so carefully, but in fact I was  
scared to death that I would somehow mess up this simple task and have  
to face Lord Haldir's criticism and disappointment. I would re-weave,  
re-sew and re-embroider every inch of his garments before I would  
endure that.  
  
Securing the wet robes in a safe place in the passageway, I bid  
Gladrel and Allinde goodbye. Lindir and I walked on into the other  
greenhouses, lunching on an apple here and a carrot there and tasting  
several unfamiliar greens and fruits as we went. We reached a final,  
fragrant greenhouse, which was filled to bursting with flowers. They  
were for pleasure, Lindir said. He picked one and handed it to me,  
then embarrassed me by apologizing gallantly for his anger of the  
night before.  
  
I told him he had nothing to apologize for. I was hesitant to, but I  
asked him if I could visit Callo again that evening. I was pleased to  
see his face soften, and he told me that we would go see him together.  
  
We came upon some of the lanterns glimmering and dancing like diamonds  
in a carved passage on our way up to the entrance balcony in the  
afternoon, and finally I asked Lindir how there seemed to be daylight  
in the caverns. And these lanterns, I asked, the ones on the paths and  
the roof of the caverns. What are they?  
  
They are starlight, Lindir answered simply.  
  
You took light from the stars and put it in the lanterns, I said  
sarcastically, sure he was yanking my chain as I suspected he often  
did.  
  
As long as starlight endured in the world, he said seriously as the  
lantern's reflections glittered in his eyes, the lanterns of  
Methentaurond would never fade or go dark.  
  
I don't know why, but I believe he is telling me the truth.  
  
* * * * *  
  
As I sit on the balcony off the entrance hall, sometimes drawing,  
sometimes writing, I think of all of the places Lindir has been kind  
enough to show me today: The laundry, the greenhouses, the lantern-  
lit underground passages, the stables, now devoid of horses and  
holding only a big, furry dog, the kitchens, the many gardens and  
fountains and underground grottos bathed in lanterns of starlight. I  
listen as well to the stories Lindir is telling me of the elves and  
their long history as we gaze out at Methentaurond together, and I am  
awed.  
  
Now an elf comes running lightly up the broad stairs. With a hand on  
his heart he tells Lindir that Lord Haldir is expecting us. We are to  
come at once to the Great Hall. My heart pounds in anticipation.  
What wonders am I to learn from him there? Will I be tested? Doubted?  
Or will he tell me, finally, what gift the elves have to give me, and  
what I have sworn my life to: what unspoken obligations and secrets I  
must bear in return?  
  
*The Lay of Luthien, J.R.R. Tolkien  
  
" 


	11. Ch 11: To Fidelity, Love, and Life

Author's Note: See Chapter 1 for disclaimer.  
  
* * * * * THE TALE OF MARIAN  
  
CHAPTER 11 - TO FIDELITY, LOVE, AND LIFE  
  
6 September  
  
Was it only two days ago that I entered Methentaurond? It seems like  
a lifetime ago. Everything is different now. The path I have begun  
to walk is different than before; I am different than before. Or  
perhaps now I am finally finding out who I am. Whether that will be  
enough or not, I don't know.  
  
I'm scared, though. I don't know if I can do this. Lord Haldir is  
right: Insecurity has always been my greatest weakness. I'm never  
really sure of my decisions. As I have grown older I've realized that  
there aren't necessarily "right" and "wrong" decisions, and that even  
a decision made with the best intentions can be bad in the end.  
Experience has done little to increase my confidence. I still feel my  
judgement isn't the best. That's why I still work for someone else -  
worked, that is. Not now.  
  
Lord Haldir says that one must recognize one's weaknesses in order to  
overcome them, and he seems to take some perverse pleasure in pointing  
mine out to me. It would be less frustrating if he wasn't so smug  
about it, and a lot less irritating if he wasn't right. Insecurity is  
not one of Lord Haldir's weaknesses, that much I AM sure of. I'm  
almost convinced that he doesn't have any weaknesses at all.  
  
An uncanny ability to read people: I think that is his greatest  
strength. I have never felt the need to develop a poker face before,  
and now I guess it's too late to start.  
  
He had not reappeared last night after he dismissed Lindir and me on  
the terrace of the Great Hall, and I was growing anxious to talk to  
him. The elf led us back past the Great Hall, up along a stream that  
fed into the river, and across to wait at a broad garden terrace in  
front of Lord Haldir's study: not the council chambers behind the  
Great Hall, but his personal study.  
  
Waiting, I looked away from the stream and down several steps and  
bridges, and found that my own rooms were not far away. I hadn't  
realized that I had been so honored in the location of my talan;  
honored, or kept a good eye on, I thought as I noticed the two armed  
sentries at the terrace doors.  
  
Lindir elbowed me and I looked back to see that Lord Haldir had  
appeared, not from within the study, but striding up through a vine-  
heavy pergola on the stream side of the terrace.  
  
His heavy, fluid hair was braided as before and a light woven circlet  
of silver rested on his brow. He was less formally dressed, in black  
boots and tights, with a dark grayish-blue tunic of some exquisite  
fabric that fit and flattered his broad, tall form and emphasized his  
dark eyes to perfection. I wonder if I will ever become unaffected by  
the sight of him. I doubt it.  
  
He showed us in through the glass terrace doors and immediately took  
to discussing warden rotations with Lindir. Waiting, I looked at his  
study: Orderly, neat, somewhat austere but quite tasteful; books and  
maps filed with precision but quickly retrievable; simply carved dark  
wooden furniture of beautiful lines with the patina of both age and  
polish, a desk with no clutter and a vase of fragrant green-white  
flowers not as incongruous as one would think with the military  
feeling of the room; golden armor and weapons on the wall - antique? -  
of fine design, polished to a fine gleam and looking like they could  
be brought down this moment and they would still be supple and sharp.  
It was the room of one who had refined life and work to its most  
essential elements, but remembered to include its beauty. I imagine  
the armor must be Lord Haldir's; it looks as though it would fit him.  
  
I believe I was too busy imagining how he would look in it to have  
noticed that Lindir had left, until Lord Haldir was at my elbow  
offering me a glass of wine. He had been remiss in not finishing the  
toast last night at dinner, so he would do so now. To fidelity, love,  
and life, he said, holding my eyes with his for a long moment over the  
rim of his glass.  
  
I had a fleeting moment of deja-vu, something about the way he handled  
his goblet, when he moved to make that toast.  
  
It was complex - the wine, I mean - a wine-lover's wine, and I closed  
my eyes to experience it: a deep, dry red with an intriguing aroma, a  
strong, rich flavor, and a full-bodied, intricate, somewhat oaky  
finish as it slid down the throat. It was berry wine, he said when I  
opened my eyes again and found him studying my face. Blackberries,  
salmonberries, huckleberries, whatever the elves were able to gather  
from the forest.  
  
I asked him how he made it, and he promised to show me later. But  
now, he said, growing quite grave, we must discuss your promise. And  
he went to the terrace doors and closed them.  
  
He showed me to a chair at a broad table, then fluidly sat across from  
me and set down his glass, turning it slowly by the stem. What  
beautiful hands he has, like the hands of a piano player: Wide,  
strong palms; long, elegantly supple, muscular fingers. Hands that  
could pick up and cradle a delicate moth without damaging it, but  
hands that I imagine could crush in an instant, like steel.  
  
What had I observed today, he asked, and I guessed that he wasn't  
asking for a list of where Lindir had taken me.  
  
I have seen, I answered slowly, that the elves live in harmony with  
the earth, as Lindir has told me. Every daily act, every made object,  
every process follows and enhances nature. It is amazing. But I only  
understand a little of what I have seen - there are so many different  
things to learn.  
  
"Study nature, love nature, stay close to nature. It will never fail  
you."  
  
He was quoting someone. Somewhere I had heard these words before. He  
looked at me expectantly, his fingers now still on the stem of the  
goblet.  
  
Frank Lloyd Wright! I exclaimed, touched that he knew something of  
"mortal" architecture.  
  
He nodded his head slightly and began to turn the glass again. He  
told me that as an architect I had refined my innate creativity and  
sensitivity to my surroundings, the love of nature that they had  
observed in me. I was passionate about employing these gifts. And I  
was intelligent; I learned quickly. This they had also observed.  
  
I wondered how long they had watched me, and how, before I took my  
vacation in the woods. It made me uncomfortable.  
  
And learn you must, as you promised, he reminded me. Most  
importantly, he emphasized, I must learn to use the gift I was to be  
given wisely.  
  
What is the gift, Lord Haldir, I asked, and held my breath.  
  
"The gift." he responded, and raised his goblet to drink from it once  
more, his eyes continuing to measure me over his glass, then slowly  
set it down again on the table. "The gift is knowledge, Marian. The  
gift is Methentaurond itself."  
  
I looked at him in shock, steadied my wine glass with both hands and  
carefully set it down on the table.  
  
"For Man to be given dominion over every living thing upon Arda does  
not mean that Man should disrespect it, or be discordant with it.  
This", he said, "you must repair. You must use this gift to change  
the world of Men. It may be your last chance; it is our last effort."  
  
I stood up and walked shakily over to the terrace doors, looking out  
into the caverns. I must change the world, I repeated in distress.  
Haldir, I protested, forgetting to use his title, I'm not capable of  
learning everything there is to learn here, of keeping this going;  
I'm not a botanist, or a sociobiologist, or a. . . I'm not a  
leader, or a statesman. . . I'm not someone who knows how to  
manipulate the government or, or who is powerful enough to change the  
direction of a whole society! What you're asking me to do is  
impossible! Why only me? I turned and demanded in panic. Why did you  
choose me?  
  
"I did not choose you," he said pointedly, rising to cross the room  
and stand towering over me. "Your coming to us was foretold long ago.  
We watched, and waited. Now, in our final hour have we found you."  
  
Foretold by whom? Found by whom? How long have you waited? I asked.  
I felt trapped by the room, trapped by his energy and his wise,  
ancient eyes.  
  
His gaze grew distant with memory. "It has been ten thousand years  
since the last ships carried the Lady of Light to Valinor. It was she  
who told me of your coming, as she departed into the West."  
  
I was speechless.  
  
Then he turned away from me and lovingly touched the flowers on his  
desk.  
  
"Ai! Laurie lantar lassi surinen,  
yeni unotime ve ramar aldaron!"*  
  
His deep, melodic voice was full of remembrance and longing. Then he  
repeated it for me: "Ah! Like gold fall the leaves in the wind, long  
years numberless as the wings of trees!"  
  
Who was she, Haldir, I asked hesitantly. I could feel a tinge of  
jealousy, which I felt guilty for. Who was I to be jealous? I could  
be nothing to him. Clearly, he wouldn't want me to even be here, if  
he had the choice.  
  
"Galadriel, Lady of Lothlorien," he replied, his voice low and  
reverent. "wisest of all the Eldar who came to the East from Valinor.  
Her image, and Lord Celeborn's you have seen."  
  
In the carving on the entrance doors, I ventured, remembering the  
unusual trees, and he nodded. Where is Lothlorien?  
  
Walking across the room to consider the armor on the wall, he said,  
"The struggle against darkness most often carries a heavy price. Much  
that was good, was lost.  
  
What remains," he said and confronted me once more, "must be  
protected. This task now falls to you."  
  
And this displeases you, I said.  
  
"In fact I do not see the wisdom of the choice, adaneth," he stated  
plainly. "But I do not question the will of the Valar."  
  
Adaneth? You called me that outside, at the doors. What does it  
mean?  
  
He asked me to remember the Followers that Lindir had told me about,  
the ones whose island close to the Undying Lands was destroyed by the  
Valar. Those Men that remained faithful, he said, were warned of the  
island's destruction. They were allowed to escape by ship, and made  
their way to the shores of Arda. From these people, these Dunedain,  
followed may great kings of Men through the ages. I, Lord Haldir  
said, was one of their few remaining descendants.  
  
And somehow, I asked him, being the great granddaughter to the  
umpteenth degree of old friends of yours qualifies me for this? Just  
because I'm remotely related to people who did great things doesn't  
mean I can do great things! Look at the Kings of England, for God's  
sake!  
  
"On this we are agreed. The bloodline is now so weak as to be  
meaningless. . ."  
  
That's not what I meant, I interrupted.  
  
". . . But you must do great things nonetheless. The greatest  
truth I have ever heard, adaneth, is this:" and here he placed both  
hands firmly on my shoulders and looked at me earnestly, "Even the  
smallest person can change the course of the future."  
  
But I can't do this by myself, I protested, still trying to take in  
what he was asking me to do.  
  
"No, you cannot. Therefore, once you have learned what you need to  
here, you will go back to your people and choose those that can help  
you, those that can hold Methentaurond secret until we have gone. You  
will lead them here, and we will teach them."  
  
So you finally trust me; you would trust me to do this, I said. You  
would risk me leaving, risk me revealing your existence to the world,  
risk me bringing a group of complete strangers into your midst that  
you may NOT be able to trust?  
  
You have given me your word, have you not, he challenged me.  
  
You can trust my word, Lord Haldir, but perhaps not my abilities.  
What if I choose badly? What if I can't talk them into coming? I  
can't talk anybody into anything. I don't inspire people: I can't  
even get my dog to do what I tell him to! I didn't even have the guts  
to start my own business! I'm not a leader!  
  
"I am responsible for the safety of Methentaurond, Marian. You are  
responsible only to choose and lead your people here.  
  
Lack of self-confidence is your greatest weakness. To succeed, you  
must be absolutely clear about what you want to accomplish, absolutely  
confident of your choices. But leaders are not born, they are made.  
And the task of making you a leader, he said somewhat scathingly, has  
fallen to me.  
  
You can accomplish whatever you set out to do: we have seen this.  
You only need admit to yourself that you want it. Tell me that you  
want this, Marian."  
  
The air in the room felt suddenly heavy; the fragrance from the  
flowers overwhelming. I went back to the table and retrieved my  
goblet, downing most of the rest of the wine. I was giving myself  
time to screw up my courage.  
  
I want this, I said to him, handing him the almost empty goblet.  
  
He reached for the goblet with one hand, but instead of taking it from  
me, he startled me by closing his hand over mine on its stem. His  
hand radiated strength and power, and I found myself holding my  
breath. Holding my gaze, he raised the goblet and my hand to his  
lips, swallowing the last of my wine. Some sacrament had passed  
between us, I thought, as he lowered my hand and the goblet to the  
table and slowly released his hold on me.  
  
"Then follow me," he ordered as he opened one of the terrace doors  
with a flourish.  
  
Where are we going? I asked.  
  
To visit your dog, was his brief reply.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Walking to the stables gave me time to think; not about Methentaurond,  
but about this elf I was following and my almost out-of-control  
emotions concerning him.  
  
Before Kevin's death, I always valued the luxury of brief moments of  
time by myself. After Kevin died and my children had grown and moved  
away, I felt truly, miserably alone. Wherever anyone else was, it was  
more interesting than where I was. When I was around other people, I  
felt like an outsider. Others were loving and enjoying life, and I  
felt left behind. I can see now that I had not been truly engaged in  
where I was or what I was doing for a very long time. I had made a  
couple of foolish mistakes with men early on, but no one could live up  
to Kevin. I stopped going out. Friends at work were just that - work  
friends - if I moved on they would fade away. Except for Jason, I  
hoped. Jason had saved me from loneliness.  
  
Not until I saw this elf shining in the moonlight over the Linluin  
have I been so deeply attracted to another man. It isn't the novelty  
of being an elf; Lindir and some of the others are, perhaps, even  
fairer than he, but I feel no attraction to them other than an  
artistic appreciation of their beauty and wisdom. And it is not only  
physical. I believe now that his drive, his ambition, his pride is  
for his people, not for his own ego gratification. As each of these  
few days have passed, each time I see small hints of the heart inside  
the carefully constructed façade, my attraction to him, and my respect  
for him, grows more powerful.  
  
I realize now that there is no other place on earth that I would  
rather be than where I am right now, in his presence.  
  
I'm surprised at myself. He sees that I am drawn to him; I know he  
reads it in my face. Yet, his lack of reaction tells me that my  
feelings, what I say and do are so predictable, so shallow as to be  
unimportant, not worthy of comment.  
  
This elf doesn't like me or trust me. He has made it obvious that he  
resents being stuck with me. Yet still I can't deny what I feel.  
  
I will only end up hurting myself, I know. Why him? Why now? He is  
an elf; he is leaving. He cares nothing for me. This is hopeless,  
foolish. I need to guard my heart.  
  
* * * * *  
I have survived my dog training session with Lord Haldir.  
  
At first Bruno was glad to see me, but once I let him off of his  
leash, he took off as usual. I called him again and again, and as  
usual he ignored me. Naturally, the first time Lord Haldir called him  
he came at once.  
  
"You call him as if you are asking to be his friend. You are his  
master, not his friend."  
  
So to be a leader I must have not friends? Haldir, everyone needs a  
friend.  
  
"Every leader has an advisor, who is more than a friend, and less."  
  
Who is your advisor, Haldir? I have seen no one in this capacity for  
you since I have been here.  
  
"My brother is my advisor, of sorts. He is now away from  
Methentaurond but should return shortly.  
  
Now, call him again."  
  
Bruno, come! I tried again more forcefully.  
  
"Now you sound as though you intend to punish him. You simply expect  
his obedience. Again."  
  
I don't have a brother, or a sister. Bruno, come! Amazingly he came,  
but veered off with a mischievous leap when I reached out to him. He  
thinks I'm going to put him back on the leash, I explained.  
  
"He must learn that to obey does not necessarily mean to give up one's  
freedom, but to obey has its own rewards. Persist, and he will learn  
to respect you. Heed my words, and remember: It is much more  
difficult, Marian, to regain respect that has been lost, than to  
inspire and keep respect in the beginning.  
  
Lindir tells me that you have a good friend," he said, nodding to the  
ring around my neck.  
  
Does Lindir tell you everything that I say to him, I asked in  
exasperation, and received a wry look in return. Of course he does, I  
thought. It's his job.  
  
Yes, I said, and smiled, picturing Jason. I have the very best of  
friends.  
  
"Then bring him back with you, this Jason. Or, will he also be more  
than an advisor? A lover, perhaps."  
  
Oh, no, I laughed, though I thought the question rather bold. No,  
that would ruin everything.  
  
"Why?" he asked seriously, and motioned for us to sit down.  
  
"Because I'm a Taurus. I like stability. Jason is a free spirit.  
  
"Ah, astrology. Do you believe in it?"  
  
No, not really, for predicting fate and such. But there do seem to be  
patterns in people's personalities that it runs true for. Then again,  
my husband was an Aries, and Taurus and Aries are not supposed to get  
along at all. But we did get along quite well for a very long time.  
  
"So what did you do to tame this fiery man, your Aries?"  
  
I didn't do anything, I said, fondly remembering Kevin's  
steadfastness, his passion, his loyalty. He tamed himself for me.  
  
"Were you true to him?"  
  
That is none of your business! I said icily and jumped up to face  
him. I had had enough of all of the too-personal questions he seemed  
to think were his right to ask, while revealing little in return, and  
I was suddenly insulted and angry.  
  
"I have to know, Marian, if you are a woman who keeps your promises.  
I would not invade your privacy otherwise."  
  
You've already asked me this, many times, I protested, hurt.  
  
Yes, I was, if you have to know, I said reluctantly and angrily at  
last when he remained silent. I didn't want him to think I wasn't  
answering him for the wrong reasons.  
  
You must realize that my answer might tell you more about my husband  
than it does about me, I cautioned.  
  
He bowed his head slightly in agreement of this possibility.  
  
Raising my chin in defiance of the hurt I felt at his words, I added  
that I had given him my word and I would keep it, that's all the more  
he needed to know. Don't ask me any more personal questions about my  
marriage, or my children, I demanded. I won't answer.  
  
Still angry, I left him seated on the bench and stepped away to try  
and talk some sense into Bruno. Lord Haldir didn't follow me. I'm  
sure he was giving me some time to calm down.  
  
Your good friend Jason, your free spirit, what "sign" is he?" he  
eventually asked me from the bench.  
  
I let him sit for as long as I dared without answering him, then  
decided that I was acting childish.  
  
I don't know which one is for his birthday, although if I had to  
guess, I would say Sagittarius, I said when I finally turned back to  
him once more.  
  
At this, a brief smile broke across Haldir's face, the first I had  
ever seen. If I had known how it would transform his face, how it  
would reveal the boy inside the man, how this simple half-smile would  
wash away my anger, melt my heart. . . Then, as quickly as it had  
come, it disappeared.  
  
"And you," I asked, not willing to let the moment pass, if I had to  
guess, Haldir, Lord of Methentaurond, captain of the Galadrim, warrior  
of great renown. . . "  
  
"I see Lindir has not been remiss in regaling you with our histories.  
. . "  
  
I would guess an Aries as well.  
  
"You would be correct."  
  
So, I took another chance and asked, proud of my growing elvish  
vocabulary of exactly four words, what qualities in an elleth would he  
tame himself for?  
  
He rose and approached me, frowning.  
  
"Astrology is a child's toy. Men use it to rationalize the influence  
of the stars. To the Elves they are more, much more. They are our  
dreams, our future, Elbereth's first gift to us and we love them  
dearly. They are our pathway home.  
  
Bring this friend with you. You will have need for an advisor. Now,  
I believe your dog is returning once more. Call him."  
  
* * * * *  
  
After about an hour with Bruno, we returned to the Great Hall for  
dinner. The food was similar to what had been prepared the night  
before but with the substitution of venison for poultry. It was  
delicious, but I was starting to crave a cheeseburger and fries.  
There were many familiar faces from the night before, but Lindir was  
not present, and some of the elves were unfamiliar. Orodren sat near  
me again, and informed me that anyone could choose to dine in the  
Great Hall, or prepare a meal on their own in their home. One had  
only to inform the Chef of the Hall by mid-morning of one's  
intentions. As Orodren had no mate, he dined in the hall regularly  
unless he was on warden duty. Lindir had chosen to dine with his  
family tonight.  
  
I wondered how I would find Lindir in order to visit Carro with him,  
but shortly after the meal had concluded he appeared to escort me back  
to Carro's talan, where we also found Allinde as before. We talked  
quietly together for a short time - Carro's condition was much as it  
had been the night before - and then we returned to the Great Hall to  
listen to the elves sing, and for Lindir to tell a tale, sometimes  
sung and sometimes told, of another event in the history of the elves.  
Again I saw that Lord Haldir had excused himself from the gathering,  
being nowhere about.  
  
Tonight, Lindir said, looking pointedly at me, at Lord Haldir's  
request he would begin the tale of the Silmarillion, which would be  
several nights in the telling.  
  
As I listened to Lindir tell of the mystical making of the Silmaril by  
Feanor, the capturing of the light of the Two Trees of Valinor in  
those three fabulous jewels, and of Feanor's growing obsession with  
them, I wondered if this wasn't Haldir's way of telling me that only  
Iluvatar himself was perfect, and that even though he claimed that men  
were much, much weaker spiritually than the elves, the elves sometimes  
suffered from the same weaknesses.  
  
He never fails to surprise me, to throw me off balance. Just when I  
think I'm sure of his opinion of how perfect his own kind is, he shows  
me their flaws, in a roundabout way. I must make no assumptions about  
this complex, compelling elf.  
  
*Namarie (The Farewell), Galadriel's Lament in Lorien, Lord of the Rings, Vol. 1, p. 394. 


	12. Ch 12: Respect and Trust

Title: The Tale of Marian Chapter: 12 Rating: PG-13 for some sexual thoughts. Feedback: Welcome. Warnings: None. Author's Note: See Chapter 1 for disclaimer.  
  
* * * * * THE TALE OF MARIAN  
  
CHAPTER 12 - RESPECT AND TRUST  
  
7 & 8 September  
  
Lord Haldir tipped the goblet to his lips and sipped the last of my  
wine, his hand still cradling my hand around the stem, but this time  
he did not put the goblet down. Instead, he tightened his grip firmly  
but not painfully, and removed the goblet a hair's breadth away from  
his lips. I could feel his pulse in his fingers now, warm and strong  
and reassuring. Slowly, gazing at me intently, he turned the goblet  
until I could feel his breath on the back of my hands, and pressed his  
parted lips quite fully to my flesh.  
  
A shudder of surprise and excitement ran through me. What was this?  
Some elven ritual? Was he testing me? Taunting me? Or did I  
actually affect him in some small way? Was he showing me that he  
welcomed the desire he had so easily read in me?  
  
I looked questioningly from my hand to his face, realizing that I was  
breathing harder, faster than I should be. His eyes had grown darker,  
and instead of coldness they now hinted at a secret, inner fire,  
controlled but so intense that it astounded me. Feeling me shudder,  
he drew in his breath and I felt his pulse quicken and throb in his  
fingers.  
  
For a moment time seemed to stop altogether. It had been so long, so  
long since I had felt this way! So completely focused on him was I,  
so acutely aware of every nuance of his expression that the rest of  
the world melted away from my perception. What followed, followed in  
vivid slow motion.  
  
His free hand found my cheek, his warm fingers traveling from there  
through my hair until they cupped the back of my neck. With apparent  
reluctance, he let his lips fall away from my hand, only to pull me  
forward, not quite against him, and place them tenderly on my own. He  
pressed, stroked the surface of my lips with his in such an  
undemanding yet sensual way that I knew he was showing me what the  
kiss could be, waiting for a response that would deny him or give him  
permission to continue. This tantalized me, inflamed my desire for  
him far beyond what any bolder, more assuming kiss ever could have.  
  
Yet I hesitated. I did not enter into physical encounters lightly,  
knowing that I could never do so without investing my heart as well,  
knowing how naïve I could be about another's intentions. It was  
impossible for me to walk away from intimacy as casually as so many  
others could. It was too hard, too painful for me to let go.  
  
I thought my heart would burst, it was pounding so hard. I had not  
given him the assurance he had been seeking, for he began to pull  
away, sucking on my lips slightly as he did so, a thrilling hint of  
the skill he possessed, and utterly, heartrendingly final: If I let  
him withdraw I would see that cold curtain close again in his eyes,  
shield his thoughts, and I would never, never feel his kiss again.  
  
No! My head screamed and I reached up to grasp his neck with my free  
hand, leaning forward, finally daring to respond, daring to risk my  
heart on my intuition that he was too honorable to want me as just a  
dalliance. I never gave a thought to insulting him by playing hard to  
get - I knew instinctively that he would not tolerate such games,  
especially not from someone who could not play them with expertise.  
  
No! I was not willing to let it end with this one precious, short  
kiss that would torment me endlessly. I wanted to taste him, revel in  
his warm, heady masculinity and the feeling of his skin on mine, feel  
his heart beat and his chest rise and fall with each breath that he  
took. I wanted to drown in his lips, be enveloped in his arms.  
Guard my heart indeed! I was helplessly, hopelessly lost.  
  
The moment that he felt me react to him he released my hand, and the  
goblet fell, clanking and rattling onto the floor. His hand flew to  
cup my jaw, his fingers splayed along my neck, and he claimed my mouth  
completely and passionately with his own. He tasted slightly of  
wine, slightly of almonds, and otherwise deliciously, silkenly  
tasteless as his tongue, his lips explored me in earnest.  
  
I grew more and more intoxicated by the feel of him, and I ran my  
hands up through his marvelous, golden hair as I had imagined doing,  
caressing the proud tips of his ears with my fingers, wanting to feel  
their strangeness, their texture, their strength. Instantly I felt  
him half-gasp, half-groan, and a wave of tension swept through him.  
His mouth slid over my cheeks, my brow, and he lowered his eyelids,  
his dark, luxurious lashes grazing his marble cheeks, and he muttered  
my name, over and over, until I thought I would either faint or  
explode.  
  
"Marian," he whispered, his voice low, intimate, and strained.  
"Marian. . . "  
  
"Marian," he repeated, louder, more insistently this time, his voice  
higher, lowering his hands to incongruously shake my shoulders.  
  
"Marian, wake up! You will be late!"  
  
What? I was rising out of a long tunnel, blinking my eyes into focus,  
gasping for breath. My eyes cleared, and I found myself staring into  
Allinde's concerned face.  
  
Marian, I'm sorry, but you didn't answer me so I came inside, she  
said. Are you all right? Are you having a nightmare?  
  
Yes, I answered groggily, yes, a nightmare.  
  
Or at least a dream that shocked me, I thought. It was so vivid, so  
full of color and atmosphere, so tactile and real that I was exhausted  
and still more than a little aroused. I didn't have dreams like this  
- I rarely ever dreamed of things I would actually LIKE to dream  
about. Usually I dreamed in black and white of something boring and  
stupid like wandering through a big, unfamiliar house - vacuuming.  
  
I'm fine, Allinde, thank you, I reassured her. What am I late for?  
What time is it?  
  
It is not yet mid-morning, she replied. Did I not receive the  
message, Allinde asked me, that Lord Haldir wished me to join him  
early this morning? He would already have been waiting some time, and  
one did not incur Haldir's wrath by keeping him waiting. He took it  
as a personal and professional insult, a sign of incompetence and  
disrespect, she warned. It was his military background, she added  
dryly.  
  
Great. Just what I needed, I thought. I was already incompetent and  
I hadn't even started yet. As I sat up wearily Allinde showed me that  
she had brought Lord Haldir's clean clothes back from the laundry for  
me to take to him.  
  
I groaned. I had forgotten all about them!  
  
How was I supposed to get the message, I asked Allinde as I hopped on  
one foot, pulling on my hiking pants. No one had been here, unless  
they knocked and I slept through it.  
  
Vanime, Allinde replied. She was one of Lord Haldir's pages, among  
other things.  
  
I would have to ask Allinde what "other things" were later. I threw  
on a tank top and my one pair of tennis shoes, grabbed the robes and  
headed out the door, thanking Allinde. I'm sure I looked like hell.  
  
Wait, you don't know where you're going! Allinde called as she  
followed me out the door. You're supposed to meet him by the lake!  
  
Wonderful. I ran.  
  
By the time I got to the lake I was gasping for air. I hate running  
with a passion, and I hate running in the morning worse. I am not a  
morning person: I'm barely civil in the morning.  
  
I looked around, trying to catch my breath. No Haldir. I hoped he  
hadn't left in disgust.  
  
The dream I'd had was bothering me. True, it was a very fine and  
convincing dream, cementing all of my feelings for this elf so that,  
awake, I could no longer try to hide from myself how he haunted me.  
But it had seemed so real. Could he have put it in my head somehow?  
Was he toying with me? I had seen him heal my arm. I had seen him  
cleanse the waters of the Linluin with only his hands and whatever  
magical, ancient power he possessed. If he was messing with me, Elf  
Lord or not, he would answer for it.  
  
I heard a happy bark, which could only be Bruno. I looked in the  
direction from which Bruno was bounding toward me, and there he was.  
Lord Haldir straightened up from leaning against one of the pillars by  
the lake, against which he had almost been invisible. He had his  
hands planted firmly on his hips and a stiff, erect posture that did  
not bode well for me. I greeted Bruno, which netted me a slobbered-on  
wrist, and jogged over to where he stood, still short of breath,  
offering him his robes back and apologizing for being late.  
  
He took the robes silently and hung them on a branch, then turned to  
me with his eyebrows arched and a very, very Army-Sergeant's  
disciplinary look on his face. I wouldn't have been surprised if he  
had barked out for me to drop and do twenty.  
  
"I will not humor you by asking why you are late," he began.  
  
That was just fine, because I wasn't going to rat on someone to save  
my skin without knowing what had really happened.  
  
I looked at him closely. Could this be the same elf that I had just  
dreamed about? I searched for any sign of confirmation that he knew  
what had occurred, but he was as unreadable as the granite rocks on  
the lakeshore. My scrutiny in the face of his admonishment must have  
irritated him further, for in spite of the fact that I didn't think  
his eyebrows could rise in disdain any farther, they did.  
  
I lowered my head in shame. Then I looked up under my lashes to see  
if his eyebrows had lowered yet. Fat chance. I was in for it.  
  
"To be an effective leader," he said in a clipped tone, "you must rise  
earlier than others, be prepared when they awaken. You will rise at  
dawn from this day forward and meet me here."  
  
I didn't know you were so intent on appearances, I wanted to say, but  
bit my tongue. I knew he wasn't that shallow. I was just feeling  
grumpy and embarrassed. Besides, I was enamored of his appearance at  
the moment. He wore only dark grey tights and a matching close-  
fitting, long sleeved undershirt, which was pushed up over his  
forearms in a way that I had always thought made men's arms look  
muscular and sexy and capable. It made his look incredible.  
  
"To be a strong leader you must keep your body strong. Come," he  
ordered, and he took off running down the path beside the lake,  
followed closely by a delighted Bruno.  
  
I'm not a dog, I muttered under my breath at his choice of words. I  
think he heard me.  
  
Great: more running. I never, never ran. I would last about three  
minutes, I thought, and jogged after them. They had both already  
rounded the upper end of the lake and started up the walk along the  
river's edge.  
  
Still breathless from my race to the lake and struggling to keep up  
with them, I called out that there was a reason it was called a  
"walk." He ignored me. Bruno ignored me. Maybe if I just focused on  
Haldir's form in front of me I could keep going. There were, after  
all, worse things to follow than Haldir's very fine ass.  
  
Wasn't this supposed to be about the time my second wind was supposed  
to kick in, I wondered, because it wasn't kicking. I hate running, I  
yelled at Haldir's behind, gasping and starting to get a sideache. I  
LOATH running!  
  
Mercifully or not, he backtracked to me.  
  
"What method of physical training. . . do. . . you. . .  
prefer?" he inquired in a measured tone. He wasn't even breathing  
hard.  
  
I don't know, anything but this, I begged: Tennis; dancing; swimming,  
I offered at random, gulping for air and resting my hands on my knees,  
upon which Bruno instantly licked my nose. Yuck.  
  
"Swimming," he repeated close to my ear and circled me casually. His  
hands were back on his hips like a cat that was confident its prey was  
no longer capable of fleeing.  
  
Oh no, I groaned, suddenly remembering the Linluin.  
  
"'A punishment to fit the crime,' is, I believe, the mortal saying,"  
he purred. The shiver that ran up my spine when his breath tickled my  
neck was not altogether pleasant.  
  
What are you doing, I asked in panic as he stepped to the bank and  
methodically stripped off every piece of his clothing. He turned  
completely toward me expectantly, with not even the tiniest bit of  
modesty.  
  
He was as magnificent as I had imagined him to be, and more. He was  
the male perfection that Michaelangelo might have strived for when he  
sculpted his David, but hadn't quite captured. For one thing, Haldir  
was, well, better endowed than the David. I had always thought that  
the David had been a bit cheated in that regard anyway.  
  
I recalled the warmth of this elf's kisses in my dream, and what might  
have followed if Allinde hadn't woken me up. Too late, I realized  
that I had been caught admiring him again.  
  
I need to go back for my bathing suit, I said hopelessly, my face  
probably turning several shades of red.  
  
"The water is swift. Clothing will only encumber your movements," he  
said reasonably and completely without emotion. He shifted his weight  
and raised his powerful arms to tie his hair back, and my mouth went  
dry.  
  
I hopped reluctantly toward him and the bank, removing my shoes and my  
clothing down to my underwear, thanking God and all his Angels, or  
Valar, or whoever, that I hadn't worn the ratty ones. I peered out at  
the strong current - it looked almost manageable. Glancing around  
warily, I saw a few other elves going about their own business,  
ignoring us like this kind of thing happened every day. For all I  
knew, it did.  
  
I turned back around again and glared at him. His impassive, cold  
stare told me that I was making him wait, again. I dismissed my  
earlier fantasies that he had anything to do with my dream. It was  
quite visibly obvious that he couldn't have been less interested in  
me.  
  
"Marian, all of Iluvatar's Children are beautiful after their own  
fashion. Even," he challenged, staring down his nose at me, "mortals  
slightly past their prime," and dove into the water.  
  
Why, you. . . Ahhhhh! I sputtered in indignation. Bruno cocked his  
head and looked at me. Shut up, I grumbled, ripping off the rest of  
my clothes and jumping into the water as quickly as I could.  
  
It wasn't as cold as I had expected, and I could stand on the  
slippery, rocky bottom if I braced myself sideways against the  
current. The water slid, delicious and cool and insistent, over every  
surface of my body. I made my way angrily over the rocks into the  
middle where Haldir had positioned himself facing upstream against the  
current, the crystal-clear water streaming delectably around his lower  
torso. This irritated me even more. Why did this elf continue to  
affect me so intensely? Even knowing that he was goading me on  
purpose, I was uncompromisingly determined to show myself worthy of  
his regard.  
  
And how long had it been since I had last gone skinny-dipping? High  
school? My anger turned to elation. I caught his eye and laughed out  
loud with the sheer pleasure of the water. He turned non-committally  
ahead and instructed me to swim with him against the current while  
holding my position in the river. Fine, I mumbled to myself. I would  
show Mr. Perfect a thing or two. Except that it wasn't as easy as he  
made it look. After a few clumsy attempts I found the right balance  
of strokes and was able, with much effort, to keep pace with him and  
the current. But my arms soon burned and I began to rely more and  
more on my legs. Each time I began to slip back, I fought my way  
forward again.  
  
Would this elf never tire, never falter in his broad strokes perfectly  
matched to the river's power, as though he and it were one in some  
effortless dance? I sparred and parried with the current, wasting  
precious energy in the process. I knew he was waiting to see when I  
would give up, and this made me push myself even harder. Just on the  
verge of not being able to raise my arms any more, I tried to plant my  
feet back on the bottom so that I wouldn't be swept downstream. I  
miscalculated. Haldir instantly dove back and caught me, pulling me  
unceremoniously to shore. I lay helpless and panting on the bank, my  
muscles reduced to jelly.  
  
He threw his tunic over me and smoothly lay down next to me on the  
bank.  
  
"You are stubborn," he commented to the ceiling far above. "You are  
weak. You will become stronger." His statement was not  
encouragement; it was an order.  
  
"You must achieve balance in all things," he continued lecturing me  
about the error of my ways. "Push yourself to excel, but pace  
yourself in the attempt. This you must also expect of your people."  
  
I opened my mouth to protest, but he sat up and said, "I did not  
demand more than you could give. You did that to yourself." I closed  
my mouth. Damn it if he wasn't right.  
  
"Go now to Allinde," he instructed, rising to pull on his tights.  
Leggings, Lindir had called them. "She will meet you in the library  
where you will begin to learn our language."  
  
I stood up, clasping his shirt to my chest. My muscles felt like  
mush; my stomach lurched.  
  
I'm going. . . I started to say, and felt my skin turn hot and  
tight. I knew the signs; I had overexerted myself in the water.  
  
"Go then, but return the garment," he said, reaching out for his  
shirt.  
  
I'm going. . . to be. . . I gulped, and grabbed for his  
outstretched hand to steady myself. . . sick. And I was.  
  
The Elf Lord sighed and rolled his eyes to the vaults above, but he  
didn't let go of my hand.  
  
* * * * *  
  
There was a fire in the grate, which Bruno immediately flopped down  
next to. The large library was warm and dry and inviting.  
  
Allinde was there, poring over an assemblage of thick, fragile-looking  
volumes spread all over the large table in front of her, her lovely  
profile silhouetted by the subdued light from a nearby window. She  
was totally engrossed in comparing something from several of the  
volumes, looking for all the world like a child who had just unwrapped  
several Christmas presents at once and couldn't decide which one to  
start playing with first.  
  
You love your work, I commented as I sat down next to her.  
  
Oh yes, she said, not losing one bit of the concentration she was  
devoting to whatever she had discovered. Work makes one feel that one  
is worthwhile, she said, it makes one capable. And, she said with a  
twinkle in her eye, it is fun.  
  
It is easy, she added, sitting back and tearing her eyes away from her  
books, to read what someone did, what their behavior was. What is not  
so easy to learn from the texts is why they did what they did. What  
drove them? What inspired them? Sometimes, if you can find enough  
different people writing about the same thing, you can start to get a  
picture of what a person was really like. Or, you can find something  
that has been lost for millennia, but is really right under everyone's  
noses! It is like putting together the pieces of a puzzle.  
  
So, what puzzle are you putting together? I asked, caught up by her  
enthusiasm although I usually found history quite dry.  
  
Can you keep a secret? She asked in a delighted whisper. She didn't  
want anyone to know what she was doing, she told me, until she felt  
surer of her research - for her part, she might not endure Lindir's  
constant teasing if he knew.  
  
Looking around to be sure no one was near, she declared with relish  
that she was trying to discover the resting places of the Palantiri.  
They were the Stones that looked far away, she said in response to my  
blank look. They were made by the Eldar, perhaps by Feanor himself in  
many ages past, as a gift and a comfort to Men. With them they could  
gaze to the West and communicate with the elves even though they were  
not allowed to travel to the Undying Lands. The elf-friends brought  
them when they escaped to the Eastern Shores.  
  
Allinde looked into the fire and quoted:  
  
"Tall ships and tall kings  
Three times three,  
What brought they from the foundered land  
Over the flowing sea?  
Seven stars and seven stones  
And one white tree."*  
  
My father told me long ago that the Stones might have allowed the  
Kings of Men to speak to each other over hundred of miles, and see  
what was occurring in each of their lands in the present, and even  
into the past.  
  
Sort of like a cell phone with memory and a videocam? I asked.  
  
Better, Allinde replied. It was supposed that no one using a third  
stone could eavesdrop on the communication between two others.  
  
What some people now would give for such secrecy! I exclaimed,  
especially people who were up to no good. So what became of the  
stones?  
  
You have heard our song to Elbereth: "Na-chaered palan-diriel,": To  
lands remote I have looked afar?  
  
One, the Stone of Elendil, is reported to have last rested in the Elf  
Tower Elostirion upon the Tower Hills. It looked only toward the  
West, across the Sea. The High-Elves are said to have traveled for  
miles to gaze into it. If one was lucky, one might glimpse Elbereth  
clothed in shining white in the distance, high on the Mountain  
Oiolosse, in Valinor. Such a vision would have been greatly  
treasured, a sign of remembrance and faith until one felt the call of  
the Sea and set sail at last into the Far West.  
  
So one of the stones was a comfort to the Elves as well, who lived  
here in Arda, I repeated. No one knows where this stone is now?  
  
No, it was either lost, or destroyed, or forgotten long ago. Towers  
have fallen; lands have changed. Few writings of Men or Elves remain  
that speak of the Stones, at least those that I have been able to  
find. The most recent entry is here, and she touched the open page of  
a large yellowed volume bound in leather and gold leaf, from the  
official records of the sons of King Elessar, the heir of Elendil.  
They possessed the only two remaining stones that Men knew of - the  
Stone of Orthanc and the Stone of Anor - given to them by Elessar  
shortly before his death, when the eldest ascended to the throne of  
Gondor. The entry is brief - times were peaceful and his sons seem to  
have made little use of them. There is no hint of what became of them  
after.  
  
That's three, I interjected. What about the other four?  
  
It was written by King Elessar himself that a third stone, the Ithil  
Stone, was most likely destroyed with the Tower of Barad-dur, where  
the evil Sauron was defeated for the last time. Only great heat or  
fire, Elessar noted, was purported to be able to damage or shatter a  
Stone.  
  
Who was Sauron? I asked, fascinated by this glimpse into the distant  
past. And we thought only ape-men walked the earth before us!  
  
Sauron was the minion of Morgoth, Allinde explained in a low voice, a  
spirit of dark treachery and immense power. Hating all that was fair  
and good, Sauron schemed to destroy the world of both Men and Elves  
and gain dominion over all of Arda. Our own accounts from Lothlorien  
and Imladris, and those of King Elessar and his Queen Undomiel are  
rich with the tale of the Rings of Power and how Sauron sought to use  
the One Ring to bring all under his power. He very nearly succeeded.  
If he had, Marian, Elessar would have fallen, and neither you nor I  
would be here. But that is another tale, one of the greatest tales of  
all.  
  
Bruno whined and shifted by the faltering embers of the fire that had  
been burning so brightly only a moment before. Allinde paused briefly  
to revive the fire with dry logs and a deft touch. The air in the  
library, which had become cold and heavy, began to regain its warmth.  
  
The annals of Gandalf the great wizard, she continued, pointing to  
another set of large volumes on the table, record that he suspected  
the Ithil Stone to be in the tower at Barad-dur, and that Sauron might  
by its use have bent the mind of the wizard Saruman to his will  
through the Stone in the Tower of Orthanc that Saruman possessed.  
Upon the defeat of Saruman the Stone of Orthanc was remembered, and  
Gandalf returned it to Elessar, who claimed it by right.  
  
Of the other three I have found no word.  
  
I gazed into the fire, which now danced and glowed merrily in the  
grate, thinking of Elves and Men, wizards and monsters, and saw  
Allinde out of the corner of my eye, studying me like one of her  
texts.  
  
There may be other volumes about the caverns or elsewhere, she said  
thoughtfully, in the hands of some forgetful or studious elf. Several  
volumes here remain to be explored, though most are in Elvish. Are  
you interested in helping me, Marian? It might speed your skill in  
our language as well as acquainting you with our past and our way of  
life.  
  
Bruno rolled over and raised his head to look at me. Why did I feel  
that even the books on the shelves were waiting for my answer?  
  
Yes of course, I'd love to, I replied, and Bruno sighed and put his  
head back down to lick his paws. What was with that dog?  
  
It would allow me to begin to repay her for her kindness, I added, and  
I shared her love of reading. Then I asked her, Lindir said that Lord  
Haldir was a friend of Elessar. Weren't others of you alive at that  
time, others who might know of the palantiri as well?  
  
Yes, all of us here remaining saw the Third Age come to a close,  
Allinde replied, but none have spoken more of the Stones than I have  
told you. Lindir alone may know more than he speaks of, but he holds  
them to be of no interest, being instruments of Men. He would scoff  
and say nothing if I asked about them.  
  
What if I asked him, I said. I'm supposed to learn about everything,  
remember?  
  
Allinde grinned a Cheshire-cat grin, and I felt as if I had gained a  
sister. Just be tactful, she warned. Lindir can recognize a  
conspiracy many miles away.  
  
Can YOU keep a secret? I asked. Allinde nodded her head and looked  
at me expectantly.  
  
I threw up on Lord Haldir's shirt this morning.  
  
But, I added as Allinde doubled over with laughter, at least he wasn't  
wearing it this time.  
  
Allinde declared that I might never be free from the laundry if I did  
not mend my ways. She showed a massive amount of control by not  
asking me why I was with Lord Haldir when he didn't have his shirt on.  
I think I will keep her guessing for a while. She'll enjoy the  
mystery.  
  
Then she asked me quite seriously if Lord Haldir had been angry with  
me. No more than I deserved, I replied. He was quicker to find fault  
lately than was his nature, she confided carefully, and her voice  
carried concern as well as deep respect. She said that I must give him  
time to accept me.  
  
* * * * *  
  
The rest of that morning was spent learning the elvish alphabet with  
Allinde, which was more like learning beautiful calligraphy. I  
decided then and there that a linguist would be first on my list of  
people to bring to Methentaurond. I could draw, but being fluent in  
only one language, I would be a weak and slow learner of Elvish.  
  
Allinde also granted me all of the blank notebooks I could desire, as  
I told her my journal was almost full and I must write down everything  
I learned, draw everything I saw each day or risk forgetting. I was  
not as quick as when I was younger, I said, and saw that she could not  
comprehend that the mortal mind slowed as the body aged. And I would  
not have the luxury of asking again after the elves were gone, I  
added. This she understood.  
  
Then Allinde declared that as we had some time before Gladrel expected  
me, I must accept from her some female essentials that I had doubtless  
not carried with me. She presented me with a hairbrush and hand  
mirror of burnished silver that looked like priceless antiques, and a  
simple but elegant grayish-green gown that she said she did not need,  
though I doubted it. Soon I must go with her to Vanime for some gowns  
and slippers of my own, for surely I would tire of leggings before  
long, she said, looking pointedly at my hiking pants and shoving me  
and Bruno out the door.  
  
Since I was meeting Gladrel in the herb gardens near the kitchens of  
the Great Hall instead of in the more distant greenhouses, I could  
take the time to finally unpack in earnest.  
  
This meant that I had to drag Bruno with me back to my rooms and then  
to the gardens before meeting Lord Haldir back at the stables.  
Although I had never allowed the big mutt inside my house back home,  
he seemed to think it was his right to barge right into my new  
quarters as soon as I opened the door.  
  
Make yourself at home, I commented as he sniffed around the front room  
and then padded into the back and immediately threw himself onto my  
bed.  
  
Oh no, I said. No, no, no. Down Bruno, I ordered, and received a  
blank stare in return.  
  
I am your master, not your friend, I reminded him. Now get down. The  
floor is yours; the bed is mine.  
  
Bruno buried his nose in the covers.  
  
That does it, I declared, and bodily shoved his big furry butt off  
onto the rug. Now stay, I admonished as I turned to place the brush  
and mirror that Allinde had given me on the dressing table. Whipping  
around, I caught him putting his paws back up onto the bed, poised to  
haul himself up onto it again.  
  
Bruno, I threatened, and his tail wagged.  
  
Down or out, I said with finality, and to my surprise he laid back  
down on the rug. Then I remembered Lord Haldir's words - obedience  
must have its own rewards. Good Bruno, I said, and went over to  
scratch him behind the ears. Good dog.  
  
Now, I told him, let's make use of that wardrobe.  
  
It didn't take long for me to empty the remaining contents of my  
backpack onto the bed. The flashlight was apparently off limits here,  
so I shoved it into the back of the bottom dressing table drawer.  
There were lovely, fragrant candles set about my rooms and one of the  
many starry lanterns by my door anyway. I followed suit with the  
meager remainders of my dehydrated food, my tiny camp stove, and the  
rest of my miniature hiking gear. The less than useful GPS/compass I  
put on the table in the front room. I might as well take some time  
later and learn to use it properly. I would doubtless need it when I  
left to gather my little band, if I was ever to find my way back.  
Ironically, I mused, people would probably think I had become a crazy  
cult leader before I was through.  
  
At last I gathered my few utilitarian clothes and Allinde's gown.  
Moving a fern and the heavy curtain aside, I opened the stately  
wardrobe in the small alcove off of the bedroom. Someone had  
obviously overlooked the alcove when they had prepared these rooms,  
however. The wardrobe was not empty.  
  
Three padded silver hangers hung on a slim silver rod in the corner of  
the wardrobe, from which draped white cotton-like dust covers with  
ties down their fronts. A lidded basket rested on a shelf above.  
  
I pulled the first hanger forward and gently unlaced the ties. Inside  
the cover was a slender, sleeveless cream-colored slip of fine weave,  
with satin edging and spaghetti-straps. It would fall in simple lines  
to the lower calf on a tall woman, or elf. Perhaps it had been a  
nightgown for an elegant lady.  
  
Re-lacing the ties, I slipped the next, much heavier hanger forward  
and peeked inside the dust cover. Inside was a deep blue velvety  
gown, the color rich as a night sky. It was full-length with a slight  
train and a wide, scooped neckline whose full sleeves would rest far  
out on the shoulders and drape nearly to the ground. Lighter blue  
chiffon trim embroidered with silver thread was corded along the  
neckline and capped the tops of the sleeves at the shoulders. A  
ceremonial garment, I guessed, much finer than the gowns that the  
elleths here wore daily.  
  
The final hanger, farthest back in the wardrobe, was mid-weight  
between the other two. I unlaced the bows to open the cotton cover,  
and gasped. Inside was a long gown fit for Cinderella's ball. A  
transparent but substantial fabric of woven gold with ribbon lacing  
was draped over a long peach slip that felt like a liquid river of  
silk. Gold thread in diamond patterning was woven through the outer  
garment, with golden beaded leaves glittering in the soft light  
falling through the glass roof of my rooms. Reverently I closed the  
cotton cover that protected this treasure. On tiptoes, I lifted the  
basket from its perch. Under the lid of reeds were slippers of the  
same peach silk as the gown, with delicate gold beading; slippers made  
to dance in. Turning them over I saw that they had been worn, but  
only briefly or by a very light-footed elf, for there was only the  
faintest sign of wear.  
  
Imaginings of a distant past, of fuller, happier, younger times filled  
my vision, and I felt at once that I was intruding on someone's  
privacy. I returned the slippers to their place high on the shelf,  
and closed the wardrobe doors. I would find some other place to store  
my clothing.  
  
Retreating from the alcove, I closed the heavy curtain and returned  
the stand with its fern to its position in front of the curtain. I  
then shoved my pants and shirts into another dresser drawer and hung  
Allinde's gown on a hook on the back of the door, and sat on the bed.  
  
How sad that these things were so loved, and yet had been left here  
abandoned and forgotten. I would have to ask later what was to be  
done with them. Looking at Bruno, I asked aloud whose cherished  
memories, what elleth's fair past did these garments whisper of.  
  
Bruno considered my question for a moment, then yawned and rose to his  
feet.  
  
It was time to meet Gladrel.  
  
Come on, I said to Bruno as I walked into what I was beginning to call  
the parlor. I selected the first of the notebooks and labeled it  
"PLANTS", while Bruno padded out after me. This was quite an  
improvement in his behavior after only one day.  
  
Maybe, I told him as I led him out into the airy cavern, there is hope  
for both of us yet.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Gladrel was a serious whirlwind of energy and efficiency. She spoke  
little, but what she did say imparted a wealth of information and  
wisdom. I almost thought I could see the plants in the herb garden  
visibly respond to her ministrations. Her voice was like magic. At  
the risk of sounding crazy, from what I could see it was more like the  
plants actually told her what they needed, and she gave it to them.  
Even the best green-thumbed mortal, who I was not, would need a world  
of science behind her to understand what she could with only a touch.  
  
By the time that Gladrel and her assistants released me that  
afternoon, the first pages of my notebook were brimming with  
instructions and sketches of herbs, many of which I had never seen  
before. My mind was whirling with the new and wondrous things I had  
begun - only begun - to learn. I would need to find an army, it  
appeared, to even begin to replace her. A microbiologist? A  
botanist? A Master Gardener? Did I know twenty Master Gardeners that  
I could talk into believing in elves?  
  
What if some of these herbs could cure diseases, like cancer or  
Alzheimers, I asked her in excitement. Why had the elves not shared  
them before?  
  
Was it wise of my bretheren to treat only the symptoms of Arda's  
malaise, she asked me in return, or to seek to repair the cause? She  
did not know if the ancient herbs would assist Men or not, she said  
more kindly. She only knew that they would grow now in Methentaurond,  
if nurtured, and nowhere else. They would soon be mine to do with  
what I thought best.  
  
She showed me the herbs that were at their peak and which would mature  
in a different season, and we picked a variety of seeds to store and  
stems to hang. Choosing several dried leaves and flowers from the  
drying house, she then took me across a narrow yard to the kitchens  
where she and a chef's assistant taught me to prepare an infusion of  
herbs that would ease Callo's breathing, which I was disturbed to  
learn had become somewhat shallow since yesterday. Then she sent me  
and Bruno away back down the garden path with a precious vial of the  
infusion and a promise to deliver it to Callo by the next morning.  
  
On the way back down the paths to meet Lord Haldir I looked through  
each of the several arbors that edged the herb gardens as I passed,  
and the view and fragrance through one in particular caught my eye. I  
stepped into the opening, and hesitated. Glancing back, I saw Gladrel  
still standing where we had parted. She made a graceful shooshing  
motion with her hands. I shrugged, and started to enter.  
  
But as I turned to step through the opening a horn pealed clearly  
once, then twice, resonating throughout the caverns.  
  
No time for dog training now - follow me! Gladrel called as she broke  
into a run back toward the kitchens.  
  
Bruno and I caught up with her in the pantries, where she was quickly  
and efficiently filling large baskets with containers of a white  
powder that I recognized as sulfur, honey and other ingredients and  
handing them one at a time to waiting elves. All smiles and excited  
conversation, they set off in pairs through the Great Hall and out  
into the caverns, practically dancing as they went.  
  
I relaxed a little; whatever was happening, it seemed to be a joyous  
occasion and not a dangerous one as I had feared.  
  
Her task completed, Gladrel turned and blinked at me as if remembering  
all at once that I was still there. Bruno barked and paced in happy  
agitation.  
  
It would be better for you to return your dog to the stables now.  
Join us at the end of the last greenhouse. I will wait for you there,  
she instructed and ran skipping out of the kitchen. Reticent Gladrel,  
skipping. Something was definitely up.  
  
But what's going on? I called after her.  
  
The last of the Gatherers have returned safely from the forest! She  
called and disappeared with her basket through the doors of the Great  
Hall.  
  
After feeding and settling Bruno down in the stables, I rushed out  
along the deserted paths and rounded the corner of the last  
greenhouse, discovering at once why the rest of Methentaurond seemed  
to be empty: Everyone was gathered here instead. The elves stood in  
a large, boisterous semicircle facing toward two of the huge tree-  
pillars, which had been hung festively with lanterns and greenery.  
But the elves were each so tall that I could see nothing more.  
  
There you are! Gladrel squeezed around a pair of silver-haired elves  
and took me by the arm, pulling me forward through the crowd.  
  
There in front of the twin pillars was a series of vats. At one side  
was a large stack of barrels, and on the other side were row upon row  
of large baskets, full to the brim with berries of all sorts:  
blackberries and huckleberries and salmonberries, overflowing and  
spilling onto the ground like huge cornucopias of plenty. In the  
middle of it all, an open bottle of wine in hand, was Lord Haldir  
himself.  
  
Gladrel brought me up to stand with her near the foremost vat. Lord  
Haldir, resplendent in deep burgundy robes with waistband, neckpiece  
and circlet of silver, leaped up to balance effortlessly on the vat's  
edge and raised his hand. The crowd quieted in anticipation.  
  
Ai Hír Haldir!** A strong voice called from the side of the gathering  
near the baskets, and the crowd parted to reveal Barunir, whom I  
recognized from my not-so-dignified first day in Methentaurond. He  
strode forward, head held high, waist-length brunette hair twined with  
ivy, clothed in a tunic and leggings of rich purplish-black  
embroidered with green stitching in the shapes of grape leaves. He  
carried a silver platter on his head, brimming with berries, which he  
removed to hold before the Elf Lord with a flourish and a bow.  
  
Lord Haldir stepped down from the vat and approached Barunir, placing  
his free hand on his heart in greeting. "Mae govannen, Gatherer," he  
said clearly for all to hear. "What bring you?"  
  
I bring the harvest of the forests of Iavas***, the gifts of Yavanna,  
my Lord, replied Barunir proudly.  
  
Taking a blackberry from the platter and tasting it, Lord Haldir  
replied, "These sweet gifts I accept, Barunir o Methentaurond a  
Imladris. May you have the praise of the Valar!" The crowd broke  
into applause and song.  
  
Then, receiving the platter from Barunir, he held it out to Gladrel,  
who produced two gleaming silver goblets from her basket and placed  
them beside the berries on the tray. The elves again became silent.  
  
"May the Valar bless this good harvest, and may the vintage of the  
year now past impart to the new its wisdom, its richness, and its  
grace," Lord Haldir said, and he dropped a berry from the tray into  
each of the goblets, then poured wine from the open bottle into each  
of them as well. Gladrel then presented one of the goblets to Lord  
Haldir and the other to Barunir, and they drank. A great cheer went  
up from the assembled elves.  
  
Standing behind Gladrel by the vat in front of the crowd, I was  
beginning to feel rather foolish and decided that perhaps now would be  
a good time to start slowly backing into the crowd. But before I  
could move a furtive muscle, Lord Haldir turned to me and held out his  
hand. A hundred pairs of curious eyes trapped me where I stood.  
Damn.  
  
"But of this harvest we will make a New Thing," he declared, leading  
me forward to where Allinde and Lindir stood beside Callo, who was  
resting on a small palfrey. Lord Haldir then faced me in front of the  
assembly. Gone for the moment was the haughty, sarcastic tone that I  
had tried to harden myself to, gone was the ice in his stare, and his  
eyes were filled wisdom and kindness.  
  
"Before this year has passed," he continued, "we will leave the woods  
that bore us and travel to the Sea, to the ready ships of the Grey  
Havens, where we will take the way Westward to the land of our people  
at last. Those who are parted from us for a time," he said, and  
looked at Callo, his voice deep with emotion, "we will find anew in  
the Blessed Realm, when the time of Waiting has passed." Then he  
faced me again. "This last vintage of the Elves shall remain as a  
parting gift to Men, a symbol of their inheritance. Will you accept  
it, adaneth elf-friend?"  
  
I opened my mouth to respond but I could not speak. The reality of  
the Elves' plight weighed on me, and I thought, standing there, that I  
understood them perhaps for the first time: their love for this  
Earth, their sadness and envy at leaving, their sureness and faith in  
their destiny on a far distant shore that none of them save those who  
had left before them had ever seen. And this elf, this glorious being  
that stood before me and that I was growing to respect and care for  
ever more deeply, would soon be gone from this place, and from me,  
forever.  
  
Lord Haldir waited patiently, and squeezed my hand.  
  
At last I found the words that I wanted, and with my hand on my heart,  
bowed low.  
  
I accept it, my Lord, with gratitude from all of my people for the  
gifts that you grant us, and the wisdom and grace that you entrust to  
us. They are irreplaceable gifts, as are the Elves, and I have vowed  
to keep them safe and use them as wisely as I am able. I wish to be  
the best of friends to you while you remain, and I wish you safe  
passage when you leave, though it saddens me greatly that this must be  
so. When the first bottle of this new vintage is opened, I will raise  
a toast to the Elves such as this world has never heard. This vintage  
will inspire the next, and it the next. So will you be with us  
always, and so will you be remembered.  
  
"Then let the begetting of the wine begin!" Lord Haldir declared, and  
threw the contents of the silver tray into the vat. He removed his  
outer robes and set them aside, and pushed up his sleeves. The rest  
of the elves followed suit, and the songs began anew. Some hefted the  
baskets of berries into the vats, some entered the vats and began  
crushing the harvest, and some stood by with large mixing paddles.  
Others rolled barrels into readiness where the juice would be drained  
from the vats and Gladrel's other ingredients added.  
  
"My Lord, you said?" Lord Haldir commented to me wryly. One corner of  
his lip was curled slightly and his eyes danced. In fact, he appeared  
to be very pleased, happy even.  
  
All right, I respect you, I admitted grudgingly, and I offer you my  
friendship. I want to repay you, somehow, for what you are doing for  
me.  
  
"I welcome your friendship, Marian, and the respect due a teacher from  
his student, the obedience of a youth toward her elder. But your  
servitude I will not accept.  
  
Look about," he said with a broad sweep of his hand. "This event  
brings joy to all, and all share in it. Each person contributes, in  
his own way, to its success. Even the sentries and the wardens in the  
forest will be relieved so that they may partake in the effort. No  
one is unnecessary or forgotten. Do you understand?"  
  
I understand, I said.  
  
"Then remove your shoes and pull up your leggings, Marian," he  
ordered, and he sat me up on the edge of the vat as the elves  
continued to empty their baskets into it. "Unless, of course, you  
want them to quickly become purple."  
  
I doubt they would add the proper element to the crush, I said as I  
kicked off my shoes.  
  
"Indeed," he replied.  
  
"Do not ask of your people," he said as he placed his strong hands  
around my waist and lowered me into the vat, "anything that you would  
not do yourself."  
  
Why does every lesson you teach me involve removing at least one  
article of clothing? I asked him, my hands resting on his broad  
shoulders.  
  
"Do not question my methods, young one," he said huskily, and he drew  
me forward, his hands still on my waist; his eyes even with mine due  
to my higher position on the floor of the vat. If he leaned but a  
little closer, our lips might touch.  
  
Seeming to recover himself, he removed his hands from my waist and  
stepped back, but not before one of his silver-gold locks of hair slid  
over the edge of the vat. A wicked thought entered my head, and I  
smirked and twirled the silken lock on my finger.  
  
"Do not even think," Haldir warned me sternly, " to turn that thought  
into deed, lest it carry the dearest of penalties."  
  
I only suggest, I said in all innocence, bending my knees to reach  
back for a handful of berries, that your hair would look marvelous  
with purple tips, don't you agree? It is, after all, a royal color.  
. .  
  
Yanking his hair out of my hand, he turned and took a basket from a  
nearby elf, and heaved it at me. Only a quick duck saved me from a  
blackberry bath. The elves around us smiled and shook their heads.  
  
"The arrow is mightier in the hand that holds the bow," Lord Haldir  
laughed, and his laughter was as musical and enchanting as the sound  
of bells. And, just in case I was too dumb to get it, he added, "or  
the basket."  
  
We worked long into the night and the wee hours of the morning, Lord  
Haldir working hardest of all, until the last bit of juice was safely  
corked in the final barrel. When we were thirsty we had wine or  
water; when we were hungry we ate berries and apples. Finally the  
task was done. The vats were cleaned, the pulp was carried away to  
the weavers where it would be boiled and strained for dye; the dregs  
would be given to Gladrel for compost. The elves began walking off to  
their homes. I wandered over to sit on the bank by the water; my feet  
hurt and my legs were sore.  
  
Lord Haldir came and sat beside me in silence.  
  
Jason would have loved this, I told him, as I stared into the water  
feeling somewhat homesick. Well, not necessarily the working part,  
but the drinking and partying part.  
  
"I suspect that your Jason can work hard when called upon to do so."  
  
Very hard, but I would never tell anyone - it would ruin his  
reputation, I said, and Lord Haldir smiled.  
  
What is this river called, I asked him.  
  
"Do you not know?"  
  
Tired, I looked up into the deep gray-blue pools of his eyes and tried  
to think. Didn't anyone in this place ever give a direct answer to a  
question? Not this elf, or Lindir either. It was beyond irritating.  
  
Sighing and gazing back at the water, I admitted to myself that this  
elf's evasiveness, his questions that seemed to spring out of nowhere,  
were lessons in themselves if I could but grasp them. He was like the  
most frustrating of professors whose classes I had suffered through in  
college, who instead of spoon-feeding their students, threw out the  
ingredients like a puzzle and then challenged you to put the puzzle  
together; who waited, smug and amused, to see how long it would take  
you to figure it out. How I resented them at the time! How they  
drove me mad! Yet as I grew older I came to see that they had been  
the best teachers I had ever had.  
  
I tried to think back to everything that I had seen or been told about  
the water in the caverns, from the waterfalls cascading around and  
below the Great Hall, to the bathing pools, the lake, and the laundry.  
Then I heard Lindir's words echo in my head: ". . .if the water  
should become tainted . . ."  
  
But we were swimming in it; the elves were washing in it! Yet, I  
thought, these things took place below the Hall, below the dwellings,  
and they cleansed it before it moved on. No, what I was thinking  
didn't make sense - it was too far away!  
  
I looked back at Lord Haldir, who was waiting for me with a rather  
smug, yet quite dignified look on his face, and I decided to take a  
leap past logic.  
  
I believe, I ventured, that you call it the Linluin.  
  
He continued to wait silently.  
  
And. . . I should not have bathed outside in the pool of the same  
name because - because it is your water supply.  
  
He still waited wordlessly.  
  
But that doesn't make sense, I argued aloud with myself. It's six  
hours away!  
  
He raised an eyebrow, and the light danced in his eyes in the most  
superior, irritating way.  
  
You didn't! I accused him, and stood up, shifting my weight from sore  
foot to sore foot, thoroughly pissed off. You made me walk SIX HOURS  
in a circle IN A BLINDFOLD for NOTHING! I yelled at him. How funny  
WAS IT, I seethed and stomped for good measure, all of you smiling and  
laughing at me behind my back!  
  
"Marian, sit down," he said calmly.  
  
"Sit down," he repeated when I crossed my arms and stuck out my chin,  
and I knew from the absolute authority of his voice that I had better  
do as he said. So I sat down with my arms still crossed, and pouted  
at him.  
  
"Do not be hurt - we did it not for our amusement, but for our  
security."  
  
You could have trusted me, I retorted.  
  
"No Marian, we dared not do so, not then."  
  
You still don't trust me.  
  
He was silent.  
  
Show me where it really is, I asked him. Show me where it comes into  
the caverns. I silently begged him to trust me. Trust me, trust me, I  
repeated in my head. Earning his trust had become the most important  
thing in the world to me.  
  
"In due time," he replied. My heart sank, and a tiny seed of  
rebellion planted itself in my mind.  
  
I looked away from him, then up to a clear vault to see that it was  
morning. Lord Haldir and I were now alone.  
  
I will meet you at the river, I said resignedly, remembering my daily  
swimming sentence.  
  
"Nay, Marian, today all in Methentaurond save the wardens of the march  
will rest. I will see you back to your talan."  
  
Then I remembered Callo and the vial of herbal medicine in my pocket.  
  
That won't be necessary, I said defiantly. I have a promise to keep  
before I rest  
  
"Would you like me to ease the pain in your feet first?"  
  
No thank you, I said, and stared unseeing at a spot beyond his head.  
  
"Until the evening meal then," he said, quietly gauging my expression.  
Then he stood up and left me by the water, alone.  
  
*The Two Towers, J.R.R. Tolkien **Hail Lord Haldir! ***Autumn 


	13. Ch 13: Many Paths to the Top of the Mou...

Title: The Tale of Marian Chapter: 13 Rating: G. Pairing: OFC/Haldir Genre: Adventure/Romance/perhaps a little Angst Timeline: AU, modern times. Feedback: Welcomed, begged for, appreciated. Warnings: None. Author's Note: See Chapter 1 for disclaimer.  
  
* * * * * THE TALE OF MARIAN  
  
CHAPTER 13 - MANY PATHS TO THE TOP OF THE MOUNTAIN*  
  
12 September  
  
If it wasn't for my journals I would soon lose all sense of time. Is  
it because of the serenity and timelessness of the elves, or the  
ethereal world of the caverns themselves?  
  
Lindir tells me that the elves feel the need to emerge from the  
caverns from time to time, to greet the moon and the stars, and to  
feel the tree-scented wind on their faces. They do this discreetly,  
in small groups or alone so as to avoid discovery from the outside. I  
hadn't noticed.  
  
I don't yet feel a need to go outside. I find the ever-present murmur  
of water and the gentle waxing and waning of the lanterns in the  
vaults above to be soothing. And there is change in cavern's  
atmosphere as well. Often the heights of the tree-pillars are  
shrouded in mist or wispy, thin clouds that play among the upper  
branches. Other times the domed halls are clear and I can see far up  
the waterfalls or down the river until the view disappears past the  
lanterns into the quiet darkness beyond.  
  
The waterfalls call me. Twice I have stolen away with Bruno, in my  
precious little free time. I walk and climb upstream, lantern in  
hand, in hopes of finding the river's source.  
  
I thought it would be easy, but twice I have been defeated. The river  
does not seem to spring from a single source. One branch joins the  
Linluin from around the side of the Great Hall - that stream that  
flows beside the terrace of Lord Haldir's study. The larger flow  
continues up several more steps of the falls onto a wide rock shelf.  
To this point the river path and the lanterns extend. Two sentries  
are posted there as well, silent and invisible. I would not have  
noticed them except for a change of guard. They ignore me. And at  
this point, to my dismay, no less than five equally strong branches  
converge to form the river. Some fall from far above, some emerge  
from dark passages or rock clefts beyond. The rock shelf is a  
powerful, beautiful place, and for me a frustrating one. I'm sure the  
elves have a perfect name for it, strong and lovely.  
  
Two branches Bruno and I have explored with the lantern, only to come  
to dead-ends where the water emerges from an opening in the cave walls  
that is too small to enter alongside the water's flow. I am not  
foolish or brave enough, nor do I have the desire to go into any  
small, spelunking holes underground.  
  
Yet these streams must converge again at some point in the Linluin  
outside, for Lord Haldir said "it" was their water supply, and he is  
not only eloquent, but most specific in his speech.  
  
Today or tomorrow I will try to follow a third branch. If I can find  
the source; if Lord Haldir sees that I know where the entrance by the  
Linluin is and I don't use it or betray them with it, then perhaps he  
will see at last that I can be trusted.  
  
* * * * *  
  
I have settled into a daily pattern with the elves. Though my lessons  
are rigorous and often draining, I find my point of view, my values  
about life itself shifting. There is a fulfillment and rightness in  
my heart that I have not known before. I am beginning to think that  
the world of Men outside, my world, can change, if only others can  
experience this place, too.  
  
Each day I rise early to swim, and my strength is improving. Lord  
Haldir's consistent presence is, although quite demanding and more  
impersonal since our disagreement at the lake, still one that makes it  
worth rising early.  
  
My mornings are pleasantly spent with Allinde in the library, then  
with Gladrel in the gardens or greenhouses.  
  
Allinde and I have found no more references to the Palantiri, but I am  
learning to read elvish, a little.  
  
Allinde also took me to Vanimë to request two simple day-gowns. I was  
not surprised to see that this was indeed the elleth who had dumped  
Lord Haldir's soiled robes in my arms my first day in Methentaurond.  
She is the least friendly elf I have met here, though there is nothing  
specific that I can complain about. When I asked her why I had not  
received her message about Lord Haldir meeting me early at the lake,  
she innocently said that she had left a small note on my door: in  
elvish, of course; in the morning. How, I asked her, was I supposed  
to wake up in time to read a note that told me to get up early, in  
elvish. She replied in a slightly standoffish voice that she had left  
it very early in the morning and hadn't wanted to awaken me; she  
hadn't expected me to sleep so long. And, she had not thought about  
the language; no one here had ever NOT spoken elvish.  
  
Uh-huh. Apparently coming to an understanding with this elf was going  
to be a challenge.  
  
My plant notebook grows thick with botanical sketches of the plants  
that Gladrel points out to me as growing in Methentaurond and nowhere  
else. They have been propagated and treasured for thousands of years  
like precious jewels. Some have medicinal value to the elves and have  
been kept for the healers. Others have been nurtured purely for  
pleasure or nostalgia of places dear to the elves that have long  
disappeared. Some look to be no more than weeds. But the elves have  
also preserved these plants out of their fear and love for the balance  
of nature in Arda: Man has so reduced the number of plant varieties  
through our agriculture or careless destruction of habitat that it has  
alarmed them.  
  
Gladrel has begun to show me the vast treasury of seeds that she and  
others have established here - there are at least 40 different  
varieties of tomatos alone - and how to replenish and maintain it for  
our future.  
  
My afternoons are first spent with Lindir, then with Lord Haldir.  
  
Lindir continues to wax philosophical. I have found that he quite  
enjoys arguing with me, and I with him. When he is not telling me  
stories he is introducing me to every facet of life in Methentaurond  
and practically every person: The cooks, the builders, the weavers  
and seamstresses, of whom Vanimë is the most skillful, the archers and  
wardens, the healers. He is quick to make sure I notice that every  
person's function is dependent and cyclical with each of the others'.  
  
I have progressed, thank God, from just Bruno-training to the  
fascinating experience of observing Lord Haldir lead his people. As I  
watch him I have the privilege of growing to know him better, and in  
spite of my warnings to myself he grows in my heart each day. A more  
excellent leader I have never seen, nor any person more tirelessly  
dedicated to the welfare of his people or more sure of his duty and of  
himself. He demands perfection of himself, and expects and receives  
no less than total commitment from all who are under his care. If  
only I could learn to possess such confidence, inspire such  
dedication. But that, I think, would be a miracle.  
  
I believe that Lord Haldir thinks it would be a miracle as well.  
Though patient, I am sure that he tires of me constantly dissecting  
his decisions: Why did he speak harshly to someone? How did he  
change that person's attitude? It goes against his nature, I think,  
which is to expect and receive instant and unconditional obedience to  
his every command. Yet how else am I to understand?  
  
Certainly I know that I fall far short of his standards. Though I am  
proud of my progress, no matter how hard I try I am never strong  
enough, quick enough, sure enough or good enough for him; my  
conclusions are never quite acceptable. So I try all the harder.  
  
I want so much for him to approve of me, even if it is only in some  
small thing. Sometimes the frustration is enough to make me want to  
cry, but I have not done so, at least not in front of him.  
  
Yesterday we were sitting in the Council Chambers off of the Great  
Hall, listening to two elves: One elf had mistakenly wronged the  
other but his pride was keeping him from admitting so and making  
amends. Lord Haldir startled us all by ordering me to decide what the  
elf should do to repair the wrong. Both Lord Haldir and the elves  
looked expectantly at me, the former calmly, and the latter both  
bewildered at this strange turn of events. I clasped my hands behind  
my back to keep from fidgeting and looked at a tapestry on the wall to  
give myself time to think. Uncomfortably, I rendered what I thought  
would be an appropriate remedy, along with the reasons why. The elves  
both looked incredulously at Lord Haldir, who promptly told them that  
indeed they were both to do as I said.  
  
As soon as they left the room, I asked him, why did you put me on the  
spot like that? I have no right to tell your people what to do! You  
wouldn't have done that, would you?  
  
Upon which without hesitation he said no, and rose to walk across the  
room and contemplate the battle scene I had been staring at.  
  
Why, was it not appropriate? I pried, following him and trying to  
divert his attention from the tapestry.  
  
Reaching out to stroke the ancient fabric, he responded without  
turning his head that it was. . . unusual, yet it might be  
effective.  
  
What would you have done, I appealed to him.  
  
"Why must you explain and question yourself every time you render a  
decision, when no one asks you to?" he turned on me and demanded with  
a snap of his eyes. I knew by then that any slight facial expression  
of this elf's, if revealed at all through the shield that he holds  
over his private thoughts, is only revealed for a purpose and harbors  
a much deeper feeling within. This look was one, I thought, of  
exasperation and extreme disappointment.  
  
I had finally come to a point where I was as equally frustrated with  
him as I expected he was with me.  
  
Because, I said sarcastically, I don't think "because I said so" is a  
legitimate reason to make someone do something!  
  
"You will not gain respect or authority if you open yourself to  
argument at every turn," he said as well as he apparently could with  
his teeth clenched together.  
  
I want to build a team, I blurted out, waving my arm at the tapestry,  
not command an army! There it was, I thought, now I had offended him  
for sure.  
  
But he only relaxed his jaw muscles and said with controlled patience,  
"You will only make your goals harder to achieve than they should be.  
You must learn when it is advantageous to explain your reasoning, and  
when it is not."  
  
I am not you, Haldir, I struggled to explain in a more reasonable  
voice. I don't command instant and absolute respect the way you do.  
I have to find what works for me. I am a woman. I will not get  
automatic obedience from anyone. I will be expected to fail. I will  
be constantly questioned, constantly challenged.  
  
"Yet you hold a position of authority as an architect, do you not?  
You have overcome these obstacles before."  
  
Yes, I recalled to him with pride, I had, with a lot of hard work and  
a lot of relationship building. But this was different.  
  
"All the more reason NOT to offer explanations when you do not need  
to," he said. "You cannot lose yourself in the desire to placate  
those you lead. Find your strength. Become the example for others to  
follow, and they will. But, you will on occasion have the need to  
impose discipline."  
  
My eyes widened; I had not thought of that. Discipline at work was  
something that Ed did, one of the reasons that I hadn't started my own  
office. I hated confrontation. I hadn't needed to discipline my  
project teams - everyone had worked hard because I worked hard, and  
they wanted our projects to succeed. The part of my work that I  
disliked the most had been the most like discipline: construction  
administration - making sure the builders did their job. But then I  
had a contract to hold over their heads like a big stick. What would  
I have here?  
  
I confessed to Lord Haldir that discipline would be the hardest thing  
for me to deal with.  
  
"Nay, Marian," he corrected me. "The most difficult thing will be to  
lead so well that discipline is rarely needed."  
  
You mean, I asked in confusion, that you see that elf's need for  
discipline to be a failure on YOUR part?  
  
"Aye, so it is, and I must ensure that he does not need it again."  
  
My head reeled with the weight of ownership that this noble elf  
imposed on himself. Was it not a measure of arrogance, that he could  
and would control so much of other people's lives? Yet they did not  
chafe under his rule, they thrived, even in secrecy. No, it was not  
control; they were here with him because they wanted to be.  
  
"Marian, to discipline is either to impose something that is not  
desired, or to remove something that is desired, is it not?"  
  
A carrot or a stick, I repeated.  
  
But what did he have that was a carrot? Methentaurond itself, of  
course. Methentaurond was safety, comfort, opportunity, community.  
It was the only such place, he had said, left on this earth for the  
elves.  
  
This carrot would soon be mine. Perhaps all I needed to do was choose  
the people who would value it as much as I did.  
  
But then there was him - fierce, strong, demanding yet fair,  
dauntless, inspiring. He was a magnet, a force of nature within  
himself. I could never hope to be like him.  
  
Disappointed again with the doubt in my eyes, he said firmly, "You  
must find what you need within yourself, and soon. I cannot find it  
for you."  
  
* * * * *  
  
In the evenings I dine at Lord Haldir's table and most often in the  
company of Orodren and Lindir as well.  
  
Lord Haldir was uncommunicative at dinner the evening after the crush.  
I had worn Allinde's green gown and received several compliments, but  
he merely gave me one of his brief yet thoroughly assessing glances,  
and looked away. Any gaity, any warmth that he may have shown to me  
earlier in the day was gone, his eyes cold and emotionless once more.  
The question of the Linluin's entrance to Methentaurond, it seems,  
stands between us like a wall.  
  
I turned from him then, discouraged, and spent the meal conversing  
with Orodren, who was leaving the next day for two weeks of warden  
duty in the forest. I imagined I felt Lord Haldir's eyes boring into  
me from the side, and I couldn't lift a glass or pass a plate with a  
completely steady hand. Yet whenever I glanced his way his attention  
was elsewhere. After a short time he took his leave, and striding  
swiftly across the Hall, retired through the same passage he always  
took after dinner. I started to rise, intending to pursue him and  
speak to him alone. But I made myself sit back down when he was  
followed instead by his page Vanimë, who with an inhospitable look in  
my direction, disappeared through the archway behind him.  
  
Vanimë was everything I was not: graceful and elegant, a cool,  
slender, pale beauty. She was someone that any male would be  
attracted to, and any powerful male would want to display as his own.  
  
I glanced back at Lindir in embarrassment. I was silently grateful to  
him that he had tactfully started a conversation with the elf on his  
other side.  
  
I looked without interest at my plate with its tasteful salads and  
perfectly prepared vegetables. I was making myself miserable, but I  
couldn't help it. I wanted chocolate.  
  
* * * * *  
  
After dinner, Lindir and I, sometimes accompanied by Lord Haldir,  
continue to visit Callo in his talan.  
  
Callo is getting worse. He has become weaker and more distant, his  
breathing shallower. His eyes are unfocused much of the time, as  
though he is seeing another place beyond our ability to follow; a  
place inside himself or beyond our perception. Watching this  
dignified, gracious elf fade day by day is heartbreaking. I am  
distressed too, for Lindir. I know he yearns to help his friend  
recover, but can do nothing other than stand at his side.  
  
Callo was a jeweler, Lindir said, and a sculptor in glass and metal.  
A crystal paperweight within which a darker crystal is suspended lies  
to Callo's left pinning sketches of a broach to the surface of the  
side table. This paperweight also Callo made. It looks as heavy upon  
the parchment as whatever weighs on Callo's heart, pinning him to his  
bed. No matter how we try to lift it, it will not let him go.  
  
As Gladrel wished, I gave the infusion to Callo under the watchful eye  
of Lomion, the healer who I found with him on that morning after the  
crush.  
  
(I must bring a doctor, too. But what doctor will I find who would  
give up a lucrative career to follow me here?)  
  
The infusion seems to ease Callo a little, so Lomion has consented to  
me bringing it fresh to him nightly. I wish fervently that there was  
more we could do.  
  
We return to the Hall in the late evening, where between the sweet,  
melancholy songs of the elves, Lindir puts down his flute and  
continues the story of the Silmarils. I am copying what I remember  
each night before I go to sleep. It is a long tale of faith and  
family, duty and rebellion, of an oath taken in pride and fear and  
kept in blood and sorrow; a story of doom and strife, hope and glory.  
  
Lindir has told tonight of the Kinslaying and the journey across the  
ice fields of those who Feanor abandoned on the shores of the Undying  
Lands when he stole the ships of the murdered Teleri elves and sailed  
for Middle Earth. Even though the Valar doomed them also never to  
return if they continued, these elves chose this dangerous, frozen  
path, hoping for wild lands and realms of their own to rule instead of  
turning back and being forgiven. I was surprised to hear the name of  
Galadriel among them. Lord Haldir had said that she took a ship to  
Valinor, so something must have changed - either her heart, or the  
hearts of the Valar. I will have to ask him if he knows.  
  
I was shocked to learn that before the Kinslaying there had never been  
a murder, or even a threat of harm among the elves except one; the  
slaying of one of Feanor's sons by Morgoth to rob the Silmarils. How  
different from our world theirs was, and I wept with many of the other  
elves as Lindir told what a terrible deed the Kinslaying was, on the  
very shores of Paradise.  
  
Lindir's voice carried me ages and worlds away, and I felt that this  
tale was not one of three jewels with the light of the Trees alone.  
It was a telling of the heart and soul of the elves, deeper and  
fiercer than I had ever imagined. I believe I sometimes glimpse such  
fierceness, deep in Lord Haldir's eyes.  
  
I was most dismayed to hear Lindir tell that one of the reasons for  
Feanor's terrible oath and the oath of his sons to wrest the Silmarils  
from anyone who possessed them was because they feared the coming of  
Men to Middle Earth. We were to follow and inherit the Arda from  
them, surpass them even as they faded. Feanor thought if he held these  
jewels, the Elves would remain lords of Light and Earth, not Men.  
  
How had we surpassed them - by mistreating the very earth that  
sustained us? It was no wonder the elves did not understand us; we  
didn't understand ourselves. Even the rumor of our coming, ages ago,  
lent cause to the strife among them. How could we make things right,  
against so much that had gone wrong before?  
  
* * * * *  
  
If I look up from the balcony of my talan I can see, across several  
bridges and along a rising path, the terrace of Lord Haldir's study.  
Returning from the Hall tonight I saw him appear alone at the railing,  
gazing out over the tranquil stream below the terrace. It seems to be  
his habit late at night to appear there, perhaps treasuring a moment  
of solitude and reflection.  
  
I try not to watch him. No matter that the twilight aurora of the  
lanterns caresses his still and valiant profile, turning the outline  
of his hair and garments into a softly glowing mantle about him. His  
demeanor at such moments, when he is away from others, seems faintly  
troubled. Perhaps this was a time that he usually shared with his  
brother, who had still not returned. Would he welcome companionship  
or comfort from me at such a time, were I to offer it? I doubt that  
he would ever reveal enough of his inner self to allow it, though to  
be such a confidant to him is something I desire.  
  
Not wanting to intrude on his reverie by interrupting him, still more  
often than not I catch myself halfway across my balcony toward the  
path before I stop myself and go inside to bed, where I can still see  
him, if I look, through my open window.  
  
Not long after he retires from the terrace, when the last gentle  
echoes of music and song in the Hall fade away and I drift off toward  
sleep, I sometimes think I hear the faint strains of a harp drifting  
down from above me, bittersweet on the still air.  
  
*"There are many paths to the top of the mountain, but only one view."  
-Harry Millner 


	14. Ch 14: Nothing Gold Can Stay

Title: The Tale of Marian Chapter: 14/? Rating: PG-13 this chapter. Pairing: OFC/Haldir Genre: Adventure/Romance/perhaps a little Angst Timeline: AU, modern times. Beta: Kara Tanner Feedback: Welcomed, begged for, appreciated. Warnings: None. Author's Note: See Chapter 1 for disclaimer.  
  
* * * * * THE TALE OF MARIAN  
  
CHAPTER 14 – Nothing Gold Can Stay*  
  
13 September  
  
I had another dream about Lord Haldir last night.  
  
I was lying in the warm sun on a grassy slope scattered with delicate  
white and yellow flowers. A light breeze skimmed across the flowers  
like waves on a summer beach, and the sky was a clear, bright blue.  
  
It was peaceful and warm and perfect. I closed my eyes and waited for  
the next puff of wind to fan my face. Something velvet-soft and  
fragrant swept delicately across my eyelid and trailed down my left  
cheek. I turned my head and opened my eyes to see him lying there  
next to me on his side, his long legs crossed, his head propped up on  
one hand. A gray cloak and dark tunic lay cast aside, and his broad,  
bare chest and golden hair gleamed in the sun. In his other hand he  
held the stem of a small yellow flower, which he now trailed with a  
steady light touch across my other cheek to my ear and down my neck to  
my collarbone and the scooped neckline of Allinde's green gown.  
  
He raised his eyes from the flower to mine. In their blue-gray depths  
was no trace of sorrow or burden, but open warmth and invitation.  
  
I reached over to touch him, and opened my mouth to speak. But he  
touched the flower petals to my lips and leaned in toward me with an  
inviting smile. He moved the flower aside and replaced it with his  
warm, full lips, and folded me into his embrace. Again I tasted the  
faint flavor of almonds. My hands reveled in the smooth bare skin of  
his back and shoulders and the tautly flowing muscles beneath. His  
kisses moved from my mouth, first across my jaw and to the sensitive  
place under my ear that made me arch into him, then across my  
collarbone. When he reached the neckline of my gown he rolled me  
gently onto my back and slipped the gown down off my shoulders until  
it was tight around my upper arms so that I could only reach his hips  
and the bare skin of his waist with my hands. With a teasing glance  
that made my heart pound, he trailed the flower and his tongue down  
the swell of my chest, ever so slowly sliding the gown lower and lower  
until I gasped and strained for the ever-tightening fabric to release  
my breasts. But he stopped and again raised his gaze to mine, his  
eyes sparkling with mischief and flaring with controlled passion.  
  
"Patience, amrún nín**," he chuckled, raising himself back and  
allowing the breeze to cool the moist trail of his lips and tongue on  
my chest. He tucked the flower into the cleft between my breasts and  
kneeled over me, grasping my shoulders and pinning my legs between his  
own as my arms were already pinned to my sides. When I wriggled and  
opened my mouth to protest, he pressed himself fully on top of me and  
silenced me with soft, firm, feverish kisses.  
  
I woke up in the dark with the covers twisted tightly all around me  
and my mind and body on fire.  
  
* * * * *  
  
I arrived early at the river this morning to disrobe and jump into the  
water before he arrived. I was too self-conscious to undress in front  
of him after my dream. But I needn't have worried - he didn't come.  
Disappointed, I swam alone.  
  
Bathing and returning to my rooms I scoured the front door, front  
porch, wall, window and front railing for any sign of a cryptic elvish  
note, but that didn't turn up either. I did, however, find two new  
gowns laid across the back of my parlor chair which I also examined  
for hidden notes without success. I shook them out for good measure  
and felt the seams for "forgotten" sewing pins, just in case. Finding  
none, I felt slightly guilty for my suspicions and took the gowns into  
the bedroom to try them on.  
  
I slipped on the first gown and looked in the mirror. Pulling it back  
over my head and dumping it on the bed, I tried on the second one. I  
raised my arms out to the side and then forward, turning sideways in  
the mirror and trying to see the back over my shoulder. My faint  
sense of guilt was turning in quick succession to disbelief, then  
irritation, and finally to outrage. I alternately thought of and  
discarded several tempting methods of torture, pacing back and forth  
and throwing various expletives at my image in the mirror each time I  
passed it. Finally I pulled the second gown off and changed back into  
my pants. I grabbed my notebook, and with the gowns stuffed under my  
arm, collected Bruno and went in search of Allinde.  
  
I gave Bruno an earful as he dutifully trotted beside me all the way  
to the library.  
  
What did you do to that dog? I heard Allinde's voice ask as soon as I  
walked into the warm, inviting room, and after a moment I spotted her  
perched in the dim reaches of the ceiling high on a bookcase ladder.  
  
I looked down at Bruno and belatedly saw that his ears were drooping  
and his corkscrew tail, usually curled over his back, was uncorked and  
trailing behind him. He obviously felt berated, and I only felt  
slightly less agitated.  
  
Oh Bruno, I'm sorry, I said and knelt down by the fire to scratch his  
ears and mumble encouragements to him. I had let myself forget how  
contagious anger and resentment could be, especially with children and  
animals.  
  
Bruno perked up a little. I stood back up and walked over to the  
massive table, glaring at the piles of open books covering its  
surface. The tabletop usually looked like books and notes had been  
strewn haphazardly all over it, but I had learned Allinde's style of  
research and knew that all of the materials were arranged in precise,  
if mysterious order.  
  
Tell me, Allinde offered, climbing down off of the ladder.  
  
I dropped the gowns onto a chair. In silence, I removed my top and  
slipped one of the gowns back on. I moved around the table so she  
could get the whole effect, raised my arms and pivoted in a 360 like a  
runway model, then slapped my hands down on my thighs for emphasis and  
waited for her reaction.  
  
Allinde stood open-mouthed and motionless, then sank into the nearest  
chair.  
  
How will you plot your revenge, she asked in amazement.  
  
I haven't decided yet, I answered. There are so many possibilities.  
  
That color is truly hideous on you.  
  
You should see the other one, I said, holding it up for her.  
  
She winced.  
  
And the fit, it's so. . .  
  
. . . unflattering in all the wrong places, I finished for her.  
But, in a skillful, subtle way, I admitted, and folded the gowns back  
on the chair.  
  
Actually, Allinde corrected me, Vanimë is the finest seamstress in  
Arda.. What did you do to so greatly anger her, if I may ask?  
  
Nothing! I've barely spoken to her, I replied. But I'm beginning to  
think that she sees me as some kind of threat.  
  
Allinde considered this and then told me that wouldn't surprise her.  
She said that Vanimë was very territorial. She could be either a fast  
friend or a formidable rival; there was no middle ground. Did I  
realize, she warned me, that I must stand up to her over this, or she  
would feel free to plague me endlessly?  
  
Oh, I'll stand up to her alright, I promised. But in a skillful,  
subtle way, I added, thinking that if I merely confronted her with a  
complaint she would act the innocent again and I would be left looking  
ungrateful and demanding.  
  
How, Allinde asked curiously.  
  
I thought anxiously about how I had never been good at dealing with  
catty women. I had thought elves would be beyond this sort of thing.  
  
I haven't the faintest idea, I replied.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Suffice it to say that I was one of Gladrel's two least favorite  
people this morning.  
  
I was to meet her at the greenhouse devoted to growing vegetables for  
the kitchen, and after a brief glance inside I decided that it would  
be best for Bruno to wait outside. Nárwen was there, the elf I had  
ordered to trade jobs with Curulas to make amends for his mistreatment  
of the gardener in charge of this greenhouse. Curulas was spending  
his first day as an assistant cook in the kitchens in Nárwen's place.  
Nárwen was kneeling angrily between rows of leafy green vegetables,  
burdened by an armful of plants and receiving a verbal thrashing of  
some sort from Gladrel.  
  
When Gladrel noticed me enter she quickly shifted targets, leaving  
Nárwen noticeably relieved.  
  
WHAT were you thinking? She accused me. Do you have any idea how  
much damage she has caused in only a few hours time? I have never  
seen an elf so insensitive to growing things!  
  
Narwen retorted that she was a CHEF, not a weed-picker, instantly  
sorry that she had drawn Gladrel's attention once more.  
  
I believe, I interjected quickly before Gladrel could resume her  
attack, that this is precisely the attitude that landed you here in  
the first place.  
  
If Curulas would grow the quality of vegetables that I require then I  
would have no need for such an attitude, Nárwen sniffed, standing up.  
  
What is your opinion, Gladrel, I asked, is Curulas a capable kitchen  
gardener?  
  
Gladrel said dismissively that of course he was, she trained him for  
years herself before giving him this responsibility. But this one,  
she complained, well, look - there she goes trampling the seedlings  
again! She over-picks immature plants -  
  
.-They are more tender, Nárwen interrupted.  
  
- and changes the beds without my permission. That is why the cooks  
aren't allowed to choose their own produce in the first place.  
  
This elleth isn't capable of running this greenhouse, and I don't have  
the time to spare to watch her every minute. Marian, you must get her  
out of my gardens! She can make amends somewhere else - anywhere  
else!  
  
That would be fine with me! Nárwen added.  
  
I glared at Nárwen and drew Gladrel aside.  
  
Gladrel, please forgive me, I apologized. When I made this decision I  
didn't foresee how it would affect you. But think about what an  
opportunity this presents. If you teach Nárwen what you can in the  
next few weeks - and I know firsthand what a superior teacher you are  
- think how much more she will respect you and Curulas and the other  
gardeners when she goes back to the kitchen; they will be so much  
easier to work with.  
  
And? prompted Gladrel, looking unconvinced.  
  
And. . . and wouldn't it benefit at least one of your gardeners to  
learn to train someone who is such a. . . a challenge? Curulas,  
for instance? That way you wouldn't have to watch her all the time.  
And, since I got you into this, if you like I could help during my  
training each day as well. Come on Gladrel, can you live with this  
arrangement for just a couple of weeks for the eventual benefits if  
you have help?  
  
Gladrel looked over at Nárwen, who was now eyeing the marigolds with a  
pair of shears in her hand.  
  
Don't you dare! Gladrel threatened, ready to bodily defend her  
favorite form of organic pest control; they keep the snails out of  
the lettuce! The radiccio is ready, if you must constantly pick  
something. And leave some for the seeds this time!  
  
Gladrel groaned and turned back to me. Only, she demanded, if you  
start right now. I must attend to one of the other greenhouses for a  
short time. Do not let her out of your sight. And whatever you do,  
do not let her pick anything else until I get back!  
  
* * * * *  
  
After leaving Nárwen - who I had to admit was rather high-maintenance  
- at Gladrel's mercy, I decided that I finally had time before meeting  
Lindir for myself and Bruno to explore a third stream. Since two of  
the remaining three forks on the rock shelf were waterfalls and I was  
no rock-climber, that left me a choice of its final, relatively  
horizontal channel which emerged from another dark, narrow cave, or  
the stream that skirted the herb gardens near the kitchens and wound  
its way around the back of the Hall below Haldir's study. As I still  
had not been able to return to explore the enticing view I had seen  
through the arbor of the herb garden, I turned in that direction.  
Bruno followed along like a big, furry shadow; like a dog is supposed  
to, as a matter of fact. This development continues to amaze me.  
  
Confident that the kitchen was a good place to avoid at the moment,  
Bruno and I skirted the herb garden by the path along the stream as  
quickly as possible, and stepped through the gated arbor into a  
wonderland.  
  
Along one side of the rocky streambed the sheer wall of the cavern  
curved and soared upward. Spread along the opposite bank was an  
enticing and almost mystical-feeling garden of hedges and flowers.  
Perfectly trimmed hedges of several types of shrubs, each a different  
shade and texture of leaves and tiny flowers, swept around and  
interwove with each other in intriguing patterns, forming slim,  
winding paths that appeared and disappeared around each corner of the  
hedges as they rose and fell at different heights. Exotic blooms in  
varied hues were interspersed in beds and little flower-rooms between  
the hedges. They spread their pale, delicate petals in the soft  
afternoon light of the caverns, which on this more intimate side of  
the Hall took on a low, hazy, twilit quality, making the beds of  
flowers seem to glow faintly of their own accord. Over the low  
portions of the hedges I could see tempting glimpses into other flower  
beds both near and far, the vistas shifting and changing as I moved  
along the paths. Around each corner where the hedges swept taller  
awaited new, delightful flower-rooms, each holding some small  
surprise: a birdbath, shrub, garden bench, or some other element or  
design that made it unique and pleasing to all the senses.  
Occasionally a small bridge or stepping stones led the path over a  
slowly trickling stream of water that wound among the hedges and into  
small fountains or sandy pools, the water cheerfully finding its way  
down the gently sloping gardens to the larger stream by the cavern  
wall. It was a masterful garden of soft edges, blending patterns,  
mingling fragrances, gentle light, and soothing sounds. It was a  
garden of dreams.  
  
I wandered in and out and around with Bruno until I found myself  
laughing and running, eager to see what awaited around the next  
corner, and the next. Following the path through the flowers further  
up the gentle slope, I reached a garden wall glistening with dripping  
water and moss. Looking up the wall I saw a familiar railing and knew  
that I was directly below the terrace of Lord Haldir's study. So this  
was where his gaze fell when he was alone. Like an English knot  
garden, the patterns of the weaving hedges and flowers would be  
revealed from where he stood. And it would be enchanting and soothing  
in the sparkling lantern light, in the quiet of the night. How  
magical it would be to stand there beside him. Perhaps I would have  
the boldness to ask him one evening.  
  
This afternoon I had other ambitions. I worked my way back down to  
the path alongside the stream, quietly calling Bruno until he came to  
my side, smiling and drooling. My faithful companion, I whispered to  
him, not even remotely interested in addressing him as "you dumb dog."  
  
The path came to an end where the stream widened into a small pond  
that nestled against the cavern wall and curved around near the upper  
end of the garden. A spring issued from the wall and fell from a  
carved shelf into the pond. I stared at the wall with my hands on my  
hips, stumped as usual. It appeared to be another dead end. Even  
Bruno seemed to be at a loss, snuffling and snorting around the pond  
like he had found the scent of a rabbit and then lost it. Perhaps I  
was taking the wrong approach. Maybe I would have to start from the  
Linluin outside, if I could find it, and work my way in.  
  
Well, Bruno and I could enjoy walking back through the secluded garden  
again on our way back to join Lindir.  
  
What are you doing here?  
  
I recognized the challenge in Vanimë's voice before I turned aside  
from the spring to face her.  
  
This is Lord Haldir's garden, she said in a superior tone. The  
flowers are rare and are not to be picked or disturbed. As she said  
this she eyed me up and down as if I had stuffed blossoms in my  
pockets and she expected to see stems sticking out of my socks. Then  
she looked pointedly at Bruno, who did not seem to be bothered by her  
at all. He could have at least growled.  
  
Only Gladrel is allowed to enter without first asking leave, she  
stated as though I had personally offended her. Her tone suggested  
that even Gladrel's ability to come and go was barely acceptable.  
  
Then what are you doing here? I shot back, my patience with this vain  
elleth's games at an end.  
  
I have Haldir's leave to enter when I find it necessary, Vanimë  
countered smoothly, ensuring that I noticed by the emphasis she placed  
that she had referred to Lord Haldir in a more personal way than by  
using his title.  
  
"As does Marian," came the resonant and commanding voice of the male  
in question.  
  
Lord Haldir emerged from around a nearby bend in the path, and my  
breath caught in my throat, as usual. He was in formal robes of a  
faintly shimmering blue as pale and dignified as the flowers around  
us, and he wore the silver circlet of his authority on his strong  
brow.  
  
Bruno bounded over and greeted him with wagging tail. Thankfully,  
Bruno was dry at the moment. Lord Haldir knelt down and whispered a  
greeting in Bruno's ear, and Bruno cocked his head and barked once in  
response, giving me a brief, unsettling feeling of deja-vu. Maybe  
dogs understood elvish. Who knew?  
  
"Vanimë," he rose and firmly addressed the startled but still dour elf  
first. "Return to the Hall and inform Lindir that Marian will not be  
joining him until dinner tonight. She and I have much to discuss." I  
noticed that he had tempered the sternness of his words to her by  
placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. I felt a twinge of  
jealousy that I tried to shake off before she noticed.  
  
Vanimë looked up at him and hesitated for only the instant that she  
dared to do so, clearly not pleased at leaving us alone together.  
Then she gave me a meaningful look, bowed her head slightly to Lord  
Haldir and turned to leave.  
  
Oh, Vanimë thank you for the gowns, I said from the safety of Lord  
Haldir's skirts (figuratively speaking, of course). They are quite  
unique, I added.  
  
Vanimë stopped short and gracefully turned back to me. Will I have  
the pleasure of seeing you in one of them soon? she replied, her  
voice smooth as glass.  
  
Just as soon as an appropriate occasion presents itself, I assured  
her, at which she looked away and nodded to Lord Haldir again, leaving  
swiftly down the garden path.  
  
I imagine that most men and possibly most elves would have been  
completely unaware of the subtle female signals that suffused this  
conversation like vinegar poured into water, but I saw when Lord  
Haldir caught my eye that nothing had escaped him.  
  
I missed you this morning at the river, I inserted into the heavy  
silence that followed. Is everything all right?  
  
"You did not receive my message," he stated tightly.  
  
I've received no messages from you that I know of, I replied. But, I  
said when he frowned, I'd like to deal with that myself, if you don't  
mind.  
  
He looked speculatively at me, and then nodded. The silence resumed.  
  
I'm sorry, I said next, thinking that he was angry at me for being in  
the garden. I didn't realize that this garden was private. It was  
just so beautiful and unique that I couldn't resist. May I ask who  
created it?  
  
"It follows my design," Lord Haldir said dismissively. "But it is not  
for the garden that you entered here. That for which you have been  
searching lies not beyond this wall.  
  
You agreed as a condition of entering Methentaurond to accept my  
authority without question. Why do you defy me, Marian?"  
  
I looked up at him, seeing sadness and curiosity in his eyes, but no  
anger. It dawned on me then how what I had been doing must look from  
his point of view, and I realized I had made a very serious blunder.  
If I had been trying to gain his trust, going behind his back had not  
been the way to do it. Why hadn't I realized before I started out  
that that was what I had been doing?  
  
No, I said, oh no, you don't understand. I wasn't trying to. . . I  
didn't mean. . . I only wanted you to see that I would keep your  
secret if I knew, I pleaded uselessly, miserably thinking that by  
trying to gain his trust I had only lost it completely. How could I  
ever repair the damage I had done?  
  
But instead of the disaster I expected, his eyes softened in  
forgiveness, and he reached out and gently placed a hand under my  
chin.  
  
"So curious, so restless, so mortal to chafe against such boundaries,"  
he mused out loud, shaking his head. "These are traits that would  
serve you well if only you would focus them in the proper direction.  
You would doubtless open Pandora's box if it was placed before you."  
  
You would not? I asked him, truly wanting to know his answer.  
  
"Only in dire need, if the necessity outweighed the consequences," he  
replied more seriously than I expected, removing his hand from my  
face. I felt that he was thinking of some other issue, something that  
weighed on his mind, and I longed for him to tell me what it was.  
  
"There is little in Methentaurond that is closed to you, Marian," he  
continued, "except for those few things that concern the elves only.  
You must stop this search: You will not find it. You waste your time  
and ours, and risk injury that you can ill afford. Be patient,  
Marian. I will show you the way soon, for the day draws near when you  
must leave us for a time."  
  
His words dismayed me. I knew that day would have to come eventually,  
but I had become so at home here that leaving had seemed distant and  
vague; an unwelcome appointment that I had pushed to the back of my  
mind. I didn't feel ready yet. I didn't want to leave Methentaurond.  
Most of all, I didn't want to be parted from him.  
  
When must I go? I asked.  
  
Perhaps he hadn't decided yet, or hadn't yet seen in me what he was  
looking for, for a guarded "Soon," was his only answer.  
  
"You will stop looking," he pressed. By his expression I knew that he  
was neither pleased nor accustomed to giving direction twice.  
  
I will stop - for you, I promised. I searched his face for any  
response to my careful admission, but his expression remained  
studiously neutral.  
  
"I have come to know," he said in the slightly slower, more melodic  
tone that I was learning meant that he was relaxing his guard a  
little, "that your desire to solve mysteries lies not in the thirst  
for power, as it does so many of the Followers, but in the delight  
that the discovery itself holds."  
  
While speaking, he had shifted his eyes away from me to contemplate  
the bubbling spring. When he returned his riveting gaze to me, I felt  
as though the very orbit of the planet had shifted in its wake.  
  
"The elves safeguard a treasure that you have not yet seen. This  
thing holds no power, but only delight that is now mingled with  
sadness. Do you wish to see what lies beyond the wall, Marian?"  
  
Yes, I responded, and he offered me his hand.  
  
How right it felt to place my hand in his broad, warm grasp and follow  
him back to the garden wall below the terrace. He led me into a  
hallway lit only by lanterns, and Bruno followed, his nails tapping on  
the stone floor, setting off tiny echoes. Set in alcoves spaced along  
the walls, the lanterns danced and glittered on the arched, tooled  
surfaces of the reddish-orange stone around us. This corridor was as  
skillfully wrought but less lofty and more simply adorned than those  
of the Great Hall, and I assumed that we were now passing through a  
lower level of the Hall itself.  
  
After a short distance we came to a domed space where several hallways  
met. Still holding my hand in his, Lord Haldir chose the leftmost  
hall. This was a narrower corridor whose carved walls and tiled  
floors soon ended in an irregular but smoothly-floored subterranean  
passage that appeared to be a natural hollow in the stone. Lanterns  
still illuminated our way, their shimmering light now and again  
alighting on stalagmites and stalagtites reaching for each other in  
the cool darkness as we skirted carefully around them.  
  
We turned a final corner in the dark passage and emerged at once into  
a bright, soaring grotto, and I blinked and shielded my eyes in the  
sudden brilliance.  
  
Lord Haldir waited while my eyes adjusted. Soon I could see about me  
and he intently watched my face as I looked around the grotto in  
wonder.  
  
"I have desired to show you this place since the day you came to be  
with us," he said quietly, and we stood together, hand and hand in a  
silence punctuated only by the twittering call of birds and the soft  
hush of leaves in the mild breeze.  
  
Here that body of water that must feed the spring in his garden  
widened to encompass the whole of the roughly circular grotto, framing  
the banks of a broad island in its center. A shaft of brilliant  
daylight slanted down from a pantheon-like hole in the irregular dome.  
This must have been the only place in Methentauraond that was open to  
the sky above.  
  
Nests perched upon shelves high in the dome, and occasionally a small  
bird flitted through the column of daylight with a flash of color when  
its wings touched the sun.  
  
At the center of the island, partly in shadow and partly in the  
sunlight that graced it from above, stood a lone tree, its expansive  
branches arching out to fill over half of the grotto. Like the  
carving on the entrance doors, the gray trunk of this magnificent tree  
was at least as wide in girth as the largest redwoods I had seen. It  
must have been thousands of years old, with branches the size of large  
trees that grew out and then swept upward nearly to the dome above.  
The leaves in the boughs above quivered golden-green in the faint  
breeze, and golden flowers released an occasional petal to flutter  
slowly down and feather the grassy glade below.  
  
Squeezing my hand, Haldir led me silently over a graceful white  
bridge. We stepped onto the island through green grass scattered with  
fragrant white and yellow flowers. The flowers left an open swath of  
green where I imagined the light from above would trace its bright  
path as it arched from morning to night. They were the white and  
yellow flowers of my dream. My pulse quickened, and I wondered what  
meaning this place held for him.  
  
"The flowers," Lord Haldir broke the silence to tell me, "are  
reminiscent of the yellow elanor and the white niphredil, which  
bloomed only in the starlight. They no longer grace the elven meadows  
of Arda as they once did in the days of my youth, long ago."  
  
Is this. . . a mallorn? I asked as we stopped near the base of the  
gray and golden tree.  
  
"It is the last mallorn," he said, touching the trunk reverently. "I  
planted it from a seed I had cherished for centuries. "You see before  
you some memory of Lothlorien the fair, though it is but a faded image  
of the light and wisdom of ancient days."  
  
But can't you plant more, I asked, sensing his deep sadness, from the  
seeds of this tree?  
  
"Nay, Marian. You behold only the living dead. It is female, and  
needs the male of its kind to beget another. Yet no other mellyrn  
remain. Its disappearance from Arda, like that of the elves, is  
merely delayed."  
  
Like the Cafáº» Marron in South America, I recalled out loud, that man's  
incursions into the rainforest had doomed to oblivion except for the  
cuttings that were sparingly taken by botanists to keep a few  
specimens alive.  
  
It is a confusion to us, I told him, which species disappear because  
of the natural course of time, and which we are dooming by our own  
actions.  
Is it because of us that the mellyrn have disappeared? I asked,  
dreading that we had caused him such grief.  
  
"No," he replied. "As much as the elves of Lothlorien resisted it,  
its time had passed, as had ours. One wisdom, if it is such, that  
escapes us, is to learn to make it any easier to say goodbye." He  
looked deeply into my eyes as he said this, and I wondered how many  
meanings his words held. Would he regret sending me away?  
  
Was it vanity for a time when the elves were masters of Arda, I  
wondered momentarily, remembering Feanor and the Silmarils, that had  
made him think so much more of the past than the present; that had  
persuaded him to plant this tree here? No, I told myself immediately,  
it was love, and sorrow: Sorrow that had deepened his wisdom, and his  
beauty. Yet I still sensed some unrest, some concern that went beyond  
these things. Was it because of me, I wondered guiltily. Or perhaps  
I was only imagining it.  
  
It is not easy for me to say goodbye either, I admitted, thinking both  
of Kevin and of this elf that stood near me, his hand holding mine. I  
had faded, for a time, after Kevin. But I had gone on, trusting that  
the future held something for me. Now I was here, and I didn't want  
to lose what I had found.  
  
"What do you think of," Lord Haldir asked gently.  
  
A poem, I said, somewhat embarrassed. But it is bittersweet, and not  
as beautiful as the poetry of the elves.  
  
"I wish to hear it," he urged, and pulled me down to sit with him at  
the base of the tree, Bruno plopping down beside us to nap in the  
grass.  
  
"Nature's first green is gold,  
Her hardest hue to hold.  
Her early leaf's a flower;  
But only so an hour.  
Then leaf subsides to leaf.  
So Eden sank to grief,  
So dawn goes down to day.  
Nothing gold can stay."*  
  
He smiled sadly. "The Followers are resilient," he said. "Callo, and  
the rest of the First Born, we are perhaps wise and strong, but no  
more resilient than the mellyrn. We cannot stay."  
  
Men are too resilient, I argued. We adapt too easily, become  
accustomed to things that are not good for us and come to accept them  
as normal. Some of our children grow up surrounded by concrete. They  
become adults whose hearts are hard, who have never seen nature or  
know where food comes from beyond a grocery store. We survive, yet  
too often we forget to live. The elves have never forgotten how to  
truly live, Haldir.  
  
"Your ancestors knew such things. It is to plant the seeds of such  
forgotten wisdom that you have been brought to us, so that Men may  
again honor Arda and learn to live anew. Yet we may not remain to see  
how your future unfolds."  
  
My husband and I went on a vacation, I told him, to the San Juan  
Islands, in Washington. We had just embarked on a ferry into the  
Sound, and a group of kids came up on deck to look at the seagulls  
gliding and calling on the wind around the boat. Even while they were  
goofing off, their faces held such amazement. Later I talked to one  
of the adults with them, and found out that they were inner city kids  
that had never seen nature like they were seeing it that day. I could  
see it in their eyes, Haldir: I believe that it changed some of them  
in a profound way. Not all of them, but some.  
  
"Does this give you faith in the nature of man, then?" he asked me,  
some of his scorn from the first day we met returning.  
  
No, I stated flatly. But God told us to reach beyond our nature. He  
would not have told us to do something if it wasn't possible. That is  
what I have faith in.  
  
"Do you have faith in yourself, Marian?"  
  
I don't know, I said honestly. I think so.  
  
"You must.  
  
Now come with me," he rose and pulled me up with him, a smile  
threatening to form at the corners of his mouth and his eyes. "Up,  
into the tree."  
  
What? I objected. I can't climb this tree; I didn't even climb trees  
when I was a kid. Why, I can't even reach the lowest branches!  
  
"I will assist you," he said, and offered me a thin gray rope ladder  
that I hadn't noticed against the gray trunk of the tree.  
  
"Today is a new day - you are no longer a child," he challenged quite  
seriously. But I saw the sparkle in his eyes and knew that I couldn't  
say no.  
  
Do tell, I said sarcastically. I'm 45, I thought, and I'm climbing a  
tree.  
At least I wasn't wearing a dress, I told myself as I climbed the  
ladder with him close behind me.  
  
A really, really big tree, I reminded myself and clutched the thin  
ropes as tightly as I could as we climbed higher and higher. Finally  
we neared the top where the limbs spread to a wide, almost flat area,  
and I recalled the talan in the carved doors nestled in just such a  
spot as this. How I wished there was one here now. Haldir leaped  
past me near the top of the ladder to stand perfectly balanced on a  
wide limb, and waited for me to climb up beside him. Look ma, no  
hands, I mumbled as I stood up and fought the vertigo that kept me  
from finding my balance, looking down between the gaps in the branches  
like I knew I shouldn't and trying to find something besides air to  
hold on to. Chuckling, Haldir jumped forward easily, completely at  
home in the tree even in his long robes, and held me steady, an  
arrangement that I found quite pleasing.  
  
We found a place in the cradle of the branches where the sun fell and  
where I could sit without endangering my life. Haldir sat next to me  
and we gazed out over the grotto for a time, watching the birds dart  
through the branches below us and listening to the rustle of the  
leaves. I felt that he was sharing something quite dear and private  
to him, and that this rarely was so. Then he began to speak quietly  
and soothingly in elvish, but it wasn't me he was talking to.  
  
"Can you hear it speak?" he said to me, placing my hand against a  
large bough of the tree.  
  
No, I told him, afraid I was disappointing him, I can't. I sense only  
strength, and great patience.  
  
"The elves taught the trees to speak when we first awoke in Arda.  
This tree now only whispers," he said in a regretful tone. Then an  
expression came to his stoic face that made me realize that it was  
difficult for him to say what he was going to say next. Still holding  
my hand on the tree, the sparkle left his eyes. Had he lost hope for  
the future?  
  
"This tree is alone, with no others of its kind to commune with. Will  
you grant me the favor of speaking to her when we are gone?" he asked  
me in a low voice.  
  
Of course I will, I replied, my eyes filling with tears. It was not  
pity I felt for the tree, or for him. Rather, I felt for the first  
time that he had dropped all of the walls around him and shown me his  
heart, a rare intimacy that I treasured beyond words or feelings.  
  
"Diole lle," he said quietly – thank you – and swiftly turned away.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Later we walked back through the lower corridors on our way to dinner,  
once again entering the domed space where many passages met. Bruno  
laid his ears back slightly and stared down one of the passages, or I  
would not have noticed that one passage was guarded: Two sentries  
stood motionless in shadowed recesses on each side of its arched  
entry.  
  
Where does that lead, I asked as we passed by. I thought I could  
literally see the doors slam shut behind Lord Haldir's eyes.  
  
"It is of no concern," he replied evenly, his expression unreadable  
once more. "Come, the Hall lies ahead," he said and guided me into a  
larger arched passage.  
  
If he had said "that is the treasury," or "that leads to the wine  
cellars," it would have satisfied my curiosity. Well, maybe not if he  
had said it was a wine cellar, but something else practical or  
mundane. Didn't he realize that by telling me I shouldn't be  
interested, it only intrigued me more? More likely he simply took it  
as a given that he would be unconditionally obeyed. After the offense  
he had taken to my search of the streams, I wasn't about to flaunt his  
authority again. But that passage bothered Bruno, and now, sitting  
here writing of it hours later, it bothers me too.  
  
We climbed a short, broad stairway into a larger upper corridor. Lord  
Haldir sent an elf to take Bruno back to the stables, and we entered  
the Hall. Several elves were already serving the evening meal, and  
the tables echoed with low, rather irritated-sounding conversation.  
As we seated ourselves I looked back toward where we had entered and  
saw that it was the very archway through which Lord Haldir retired  
after every evening meal.  
  
Good evening Marian, Lindir greeted me and passed me a strange-looking  
dish. Try the vegetables, he said with a plastic smile, you may find  
them particularly interesting this evening.  
  
I took the dish and served myself, becoming aware that several of my  
dining companions had stopped their conversations to watch me.  
Wondering what was afoot, I self-consciously took a bite of my food  
and looked at Lindir again; Lindir, who had a carefully constructed,  
exceedingly neutral look on his face. Instantly I knew I was in  
trouble yet again.  
  
Where is she! came the roar from the kitchens. A very large, very  
intimidating and very incensed elf that I vaguely recognized as the  
head chef burst into the Hall and scanned the crowd until he saw me.  
He strode vehemently across the room, elves scattering before him like  
shore birds escaping an oncoming wave and then closing in behind him  
as he stopped to tower over me.  
  
No one, he glowered, NO ONE alters the smooth, precise function of  
this kitchen except for me. How dare you presume to steal one of my  
best cooks away without my permission and impose this charlatan on us  
all? Have you tasted this. . . dish? he accused, waving it under  
my nose.  
  
Mutters of agreement filled the Hall.  
  
I glanced at Lord Haldir out of the corner of my eye. He was hiding a  
grin in his wine glass and I knew that I couldn't expect him to step  
in. This was my mess – would it ever end?  
  
I looked around at the hovering, displeased elves that seemed to be  
crowding forward.  
  
Let's discuss this in the Council Chambers and not disturb everyone's  
dinner, I said, and I patted the angry chef's arm and smiled  
endearingly (I hoped) up at him, steering him toward the kitchen to  
gather Curulas. The chef led me over and tore Curulas away from his  
valiant efforts to cook more vegetables that doubtless would be eaten  
by no one.  
  
Not daring to look back until the doors of the Chambers had closed  
behind us, I saw that Lord Haldir, Gladrel, and even Nárwen had  
followed us into what I was hoping would be neutral territory. Lord  
Haldir leaned comfortably against the Chamber wall, crossing one leg  
over the other and propping a thumb expectantly under his chin,  
pressing his index finger over his upper lip, doubtless to keep  
himself from laughing. I narrowed my eyes at him and turned back  
around.  
  
You, the chef said, and you, he accused, pointing at both Curulas and  
me, have in less than one meal destroyed my excellent and well-  
deserved reputation. Some people are not meant to set foot in a  
kitchen, and you, he pointed at Curulas again, are most definitely  
not. The simplest dish befuddles him, he complained to me, throwing  
up his large, flour-covered hands.  
  
I cannot turn badly chosen plants that are delivered to me too late to  
prepare properly into a perfect dish! Curulas defended himself. And  
you are overbearing and impossible to please, he defiantly told the  
Chef. It is because of Nárwen's poor management of the gardens that  
the quality of the dish suffers, not my cooking!  
  
And I hate to cook, he added accusingly at me.  
  
If you had told me sooner what you needed for tonight, pitched in  
Nárwen to Curulas, and hadn't changed your mind at the last minute, I  
could have delivered the plants to you on time. And if you don't  
listen to Turnaur tell you how to prepare them properly, it is your  
own fault!  
  
I was not consulted about this arrangement! It is not acceptable, the  
Head Chef declared. You will remove him and restore Nárwen to her  
rightful station at once, he demanded.  
  
Everyone around me looked to Lord Haldir for support.  
  
I looked over my shoulder at him also but he only raised his eyebrows  
at me and continued leaning silently against the wall, making no move  
to either overrule or help me. Fine, I could handle this just fine;  
no problem. I glared at him again, took a deep breath, and turned  
back around.  
  
It seemed to me that Curulas and Nárwen were finally starting to see  
their jobs from each other's point of view, which is what I had  
intended. But one meal's worth of accusations wasn't going to repair  
their relationship.  
  
A fine headache beginning to form in my temples, I tried my best to  
hide my nervousness. Turnaur, I said to the head chef, I know that  
everyone here, especially you, wants to be the absolute best they can  
be at what they do, or you all wouldn't be so passionate to have  
things set right. And, I said to Curulas and Nárwen, I understand  
that throwing you into new responsibilities without any preparation is  
unsettling. But, I think you are all up to the challenge, and my  
decision stands.  
  
You have said it yourself, the Head Chef said to me as though he had  
checked me on a chessboard, it takes months, even years, for me to  
train a cook before they earn the position that Nárwen holds – the  
position that Curulas has made a shambles of in one meal!  
  
Well, I said in a disappointed tone of voice to the Head Chef, if you  
don't think that you have the expertise to deal with the situation. .  
.  
  
Just one minute, the Chef protested, I have been training cooks for  
millennia – I can teach anyone anything! Then the Chef realized what  
he had said and sputtered. Checkmate, I thought gleefully. It wasn't  
every day that I would be able to catch an elf off guard, so I did my  
best to keep from embarrassing him.  
  
In that case, Curulas, I asked quickly to cover the Chef's little  
blunder, what do you need from Turnaur and Nárwen to do a better job  
tomorrow?  
  
Curulas looked amazed that anyone had asked him this, and took a  
minute to think. Well to begin with, Turnaur could stop yelling at me  
when I make a mistake, and if he could just let me ask a few  
questions, give me a little more attention until I get the hang of  
things – he's always paying attention to something else until it's too  
late.  
  
But if Turnaur isn't always available, who else would be the most able  
to help you learn Nárwen's job?  
  
Well, Nárwen I suppose, Curulas said reluctantly, looking anywhere  
except at Nárwen.  
  
Nárwen, I said, if Curulas helps you in the garden, will you help him  
in the kitchen?  
  
And, Curulas added, Nárwen needs to pick what I need – the right  
quality, and deliver them to me earlier in the day.  
  
Nárwen looked resentfully at me and then at Curulas, but nodded in  
agreement.  
  
Nárwen, do you need anything from Curulas to be able to do what he is  
asking of you?  
  
Nárwen replied that she needed Curulas to tell her what he needed  
sooner so she had time to plan ahead and get Gladrel's approval.  
  
Curulas reluctantly agreed.  
  
Well, I said to the Chef, is there anything I can do in the kitchen to  
help you in the next two weeks?  
  
No! The Chef declared in horror, the less novices in the kitchen the  
better.  
  
What's on the menu for tomorrow then, I asked, turning to look at  
Curulas and Nárwen. But I saw that they were already walking out the  
door in animated conversation: I like red chard, declared Curulas,  
but it has already bolted. What do you think about the broccoli,  
Nárwen said, it would make a wonderful au gratin tomorrow night. . .  
  
Thank you, I said to the Chef, I'm sorry I didn't include you in this  
decision from the beginning. I know that both of them will benefit  
from your support.  
  
Your pardon, he surprised me by saying graciously. I allowed my  
immediate needs to overshadow the rewards that this, ah, experiment  
may bring. An elf of my years should show more patience.  
  
I touched my hand to my heart in respect. I could see now why Lord  
Haldir would have chosen a different lesson: My decision had affected  
not just those I intended, but everyone in the caverns. Still, I felt  
a burst of self-confidence that I had made the right decision by not  
backing down, and I didn't feel the need this time to ask Lord Haldir  
if he agreed. I looked toward him anyway and smiled, bouncing on my  
toes a little, although I would rather have jumped up and down and  
yelled "YESSSSSSS!"  
  
He merely pushed himself away from the wall and noncommittally  
followed the others out of the room. Suddenly I didn't feel like  
celebrating anymore. What did I have to do for him to be satisfied  
with me?  
  
* * * * *  
  
The rest of my evening was spent visiting a listless Callo and then  
sharing the Hall with a large group of elves and some good bottles of  
wine, listening to Lindir continue his tale of the Silmarils and the  
elves in Beleriand striving against Morgoth. I brought one of my  
notebooks and soothed my bruised ego by drinking wine and sketching  
Lindir while he emphasized valiant elves in battle with dramatic  
sweeps of his arms, or crouched down and lowered his voice, making us  
lean forward in anticipation of what would happen next. Lindir was a  
true raconteur; these elves had probably heard this story over and  
over, but he made it come alive so that I believed I could see and  
feel and hear it, even smell it happening before my eyes.  
  
I had tried to find an opportunity to sketch Lord Haldir, but I  
couldn't seem to catch him at a time when he was unaware of my  
actions. I wanted it to be a secret, so that if I could do a drawing  
I was satisfied with, I could give it to him as a present.  
  
I lifted a half-empty bottle of wine to Lindir in salute as he  
finished for the evening, and then stared at the lights of the Hall  
filtering through the purplish-red liquid. It gave me an idea; an  
idea of how I might approach my Vanimë problem in a subtle, skillful  
way. Seeing that the Hall was emptying, I poured a goodly amount of  
the leftover wine into some open wine bottles and carried them back to  
my rooms.  
  
I have an experiment to conduct tomorrow.  
  
*"Nothing Gold Can Stay," a poem by Robert Frost.  
**amrún nín – my sunrise 


	15. CH 15: Days of Future Passed

Title: The Tale of Marian Chapter: 15/? Rating: PG this chapter. Pairing: OFC/Haldir Genre: Adventure/Romance/perhaps a little Angst Timeline: AU, modern times. Beta: Kara Tanner Feedback: Welcomed, begged for, appreciated. Warnings: None. Author's Note: See Chapter 1 for disclaimer.  
  
* * * * * THE TALE OF MARIAN  
  
CHAPTER 15 – Days of Future Passed*  
  
15 September  
  
We have found a new reference to a Palantir! An elf returning to  
Methentaurond from "outside," as I am beginning to think of the rest  
of the world, brought a book back to Allinde last night. It was in  
elvish, of course. I have been true to my word to Allinde - I am  
learning the language terribly slowly, and can read and speak little.  
But the words "Palantir Elendil" sprang out at me from the yellowed  
and fragile pages, and I called Allinde immediately to my side.  
  
The book was the journal of an elf whose travels had taken him to the  
Gray Havens. He had turned aside along the way to climb the Tower  
Hills and gaze into the Stone. In great excitement Allinde read the  
lone paragraph that mentioned the elf-stone:  
  
"Elostirion - as a pilgrim I ascend the heights of your winding  
stairs, higher and higher, each step a prayer to the Valar. Like  
an eagle I rise through the drifting clouds to your gleaming  
parapets and behold in the distance the wide blue sea, sparkling  
like diamonds in Anor's brilliant light, gulls calling in an  
endless ocean of bold blue sky. Elendil's Stone lay, a dark and  
mysterious jewel, in the bosom of your lofty marble heights,  
safe in the keeping of the High Elves of Lindon, Lord Cirdan  
wise and strong. Into its swirling depths in timeless thought I  
gaze, blessed by a vision of your pure white shores, oh Valinor.  
Now I rest, yet ere Ríw** comes I will take the grey ship and  
follow, for seeing you, oh blessed land of Elbereth, I am called  
home across the wide sea!"  
  
So Cirdan was keeper of the Stone of Elendil! exclaimed Allinde. Of  
course, she said, pacing back and forth and slapping her forehead with  
her hand, why had I not thought of that? And it is said that Cirdan  
did not leave the Gray Havens for the Undying Lands until the end of  
the Third Age. I wonder if he still had it then, and if he took it  
with him?  
  
I asked Allinde where the Gray Havens were, to which she replied that  
the elves no longer knew where this harbor had once stood - lands had  
changed so much over so long a time, they had disappeared from sight  
and memory, like Lothlorien and so many places they had once  
cherished.  
  
What did the elf mean when he said he rested, I asked her. Was the  
tower so high that the stairs would tire him so much? I thought of  
Lord Haldir swimming in the mornings - I didn't think a long flight of  
stairs would be much of a physical challenge to most elves.  
  
She didn't think so, she said. It was more likely that the effort of  
gazing into the Palantir tired him - one had to focus one's thoughts  
toward what one desired to see. She had read that it could be both a  
physical and mental drain; such was the discipline of mind and the  
strength of will that was required, to direct a Palantir.  
  
* * * * *  
  
One of my worries, as my departure draws closer, is how to protect the  
books, manuscripts, and journals; not only the ancient and  
irreplaceable documents that Allinde cares for here in the library,  
but the notebooks of the elves, like Gladrel's garden books and the  
master builder's notes of techniques and measurements, that they  
record in on a daily basis.  
  
It isn't the physical preservation I'm worried about - I'm confident  
we have experts to take care of that. It's theft that I fear, when  
others are brought here - when the world discovers that this place  
exists.  
  
Take Gladrel's Herbals, for example: volumes and volumes of her  
notebooks of medicinal plants, with gold leaf lettering and the most  
meticulous, beautiful botanical watercolors. A collector would pay  
millions for any one of them, and some would stop at nothing to obtain  
them. I cannot afford for such irreplaceable knowledge to disappear  
into some hoarder's dark and lonely safe or basement gallery.  
  
And what of Corudring's pocketbooks: the geometrical diagrams,  
calculations, sketches of joints and connections, the proportional  
diagrams and design sketches so organic and biological, so radical to  
modern architecture, that they could change the way we view and  
construct our built environment forever?  
  
The same could be said for the extensive historical tapestries and  
paintings that line the walls of every space, public and private. Not  
to mention the scientific discoveries that could mean billions for  
some giant pharmaceutical corporation or genome project, or who knows  
who would take over the idea and allow no one else access to it.  
  
I will not let such things happen! I will not let Methentaurond be  
pillaged and divided like spoils of war by the greedy, the self-  
serving, the power-hungry - by those who will not value sharing what  
is here with all mankind. I will not allow the legacy of the Elves be  
cheapened, ruined, raped.  
  
Methentaurond must be a sanctuary; these things must stay here, yet be  
available to all. Without the whole the parts are but a shadow of  
what is possible for our world, of what this place is, or at least  
what we will be able to keep it as, after the elves are gone. After  
he is gone.  
  
But how?  
  
This is where I think our technology will save us. If I and the few  
people I bring here first can absorb and disseminate enough  
information quickly enough, then Methentaurond's knowledge will belong  
to all of us before the vultures have time to descend.  
  
I have been thinking for some time that if we can have this place  
safeguarded as a national - no, an international - treasure, then we  
can control how many people enter at one time, and what they are  
allowed to do while they are here.  
  
But can we keep this place secret long enough for these things to take  
shape?  
  
So many "ifs"! I must choose my people wisely and well, the first  
time. There will be no room for mistakes, no luxury of hindsight.  
  
Time is my enemy, and the enemy of the otherwise timeless, immortal,  
elves. And time is the enemy, also, of my heart.  
  
* * * * *  
  
But now to smaller, but no less challenging things:  
  
I woke early this morning, before meeting Lord Haldir at the river,  
and conducted my experiment. The results were good enough for my  
purposes.  
  
This afternoon I stood in front of the mirror with the frame of leaf  
and tendril-woven silver, looking at Vanimë's green gown. It was the  
one that my experiment had yielded the most satisfying results for.  
  
I had a hard time accepting that any elf could be as spiteful and  
immature as Vanimë appeared to be. Surely she realized that it would  
be an embarrassment for her as well as for me if I wore either gown  
like this? I wasn't about to take them back to her and complain - I  
would avoid that trap. Was she counting on me being as vain as she  
and so not wearing them? She would never respect me if I was weak and  
did nothing.  
  
Was it because I was not an elf that she showed me such disrespect?  
Clearly she thoroughly disrespected me, or she would never have  
withheld Lord Haldir's messages from me or so blatantly have insulted  
me with these gowns. Did she see me as some kind of competition for  
Lord Haldir's affections? I wondered for the hundredth time if she  
was involved with him, or if she just wished she was.  
  
I would earn her respect. I would make myself look good, and I would  
make her look good at the same time. I was at least a decent  
seamstress: I would fix these gowns myself. At least, I would try.  
Then I would wear them to dinner in the Great Hall, and we would see.  
  
Searching my reflection more critically, I looked for one seam, one  
dart or gather in the garment that, taken in or out, might set things  
to right. A good half-hour later, I thought I might be on the right  
track. I pulled open the drawer where I had stuffed the less-needed  
contents of my backpack, and found the sewing repair kit that I always  
took on trips in anticipation of a popped button or a ripped seam. I  
found some thread that was at least passably close to the right color.  
Not the hideous pastel yellow-green color the dress currently was,  
but close to the color of the small sample that I had cut from the hem  
this morning and soaked in last night's red wine. The wine had turned  
the yellow sample a passable raw umber, and the green one a satisfying  
violet-brown that was infinitely more flattering to my skin color.  
  
Finding plenty of selvage to work with, I let the underarm seams out  
generously and tried the dress on again. It was a definite  
improvement, but something else was keeping it from falling gracefully  
from the shoulders. After more frustrating adjustments with the  
armholes and taking in the waist, I decided it was probably the best I  
could do; I wasn't a professional, after all. But I no longer looked  
like an under-ripe pear: The shoulders of the dress now balanced my  
hips better, and my waist had reappeared. The gown was at least now  
relatively flattering, except for the color.  
  
I eyed the large basin that I had borrowed from Gladrel. I hoped I  
had salvaged enough blackberry wine.  
  
* * * * *  
  
I had just finished hanging the gown above the basin in my bedroom to  
drip dry and was slathering on some of Allinde's soap to remove the  
purple stains from my hands, when there was a knock at the door.  
Quickly I dried my hands, closed the blue velvet curtains over the  
bedroom entrance, and raced across the parlor to open the door. Bruno  
groggily raised his head from his blanket by the table, his afternoon  
nap disturbed.  
  
It was Lindir. Obviously I was late in joining him and he had come to  
find me.  
  
What is that smell? he asked as I stepped back for him to enter.  
Belatedly I realized that the whole place must reek like the morning  
after a rowdy party, but I could no longer smell a thing.  
  
Oh, I said dismissively, I knocked over a bottle and spilled wine on  
the floor. I've just now finished cleaning it up - I'm sorry I've  
made you wait.  
  
I see, he said, looking down at my hands. Following his gaze I saw  
that the undersides of my fingernails and my cuticles were still  
purple.  
  
Shall we bring your dog? he said then, stepping past me, and I turned  
to see that Bruno had gotten up and was padding lazily into the  
bedroom, dragging the curtain open with his corkscrew tail.  
  
Uh, no, I said quickly, moving between Lindir and the curtain and  
trying to guide him back toward the door. Stay Bruno! I called over  
my shoulder, explaining to Lindir that I had walked him extensively  
this morning and he was tired.  
  
Lindir didn't budge, but stood in the middle of my parlor and eyed me  
suspiciously. Surely his elven sense of propriety wouldn't allow him  
to go into a woman's bedroom uninvited, would it?  
  
Uh, Lindir, you and Corudring have taught me how Imladris was planned  
and built, I reminded him, nodding toward the front door, but not yet  
Lothlorien or the Gray Havens. Can we go see Corudring again, now,  
and ask him?  
  
With a slight narrowing of his eyes Lindir took another step toward  
the bedroom, gauging my reaction, which was to involuntarily step  
toward him again. After another moment of silent examination, he  
relented like the gentleman he was and allowed me to steer him out the  
door.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Lindir and I stood next to Corudring in his workshop, where he  
explained the layout of Lothlorien to me, sketching deftly on a spare  
scrap of rough paper. The home of the galadrim had been a stately,  
mature forest of mallorn in a valley nestled between two rivers - much  
like the redwood forest in that Lothlorien was eventually the only  
place where the mallorn grew. On a hilltop in a clearing in the vee,  
or naith where the rivers met lay the tree-city of Caras Galadhon,  
surrounded by a large foss, or moat, and then a high encircling wall  
with but one large gated entrance. Corudring's drawing reminded me of  
a medieval fortress, with many layers of protection fanning out around  
it.  
  
They told me of the city's ethereal beauty, and of the Lord and Lady  
of the Galadrim who ruled there. So this had been Haldir's home that  
he so loved and remembered, and his duty. I tried to imagine him and  
his wardens guarding the borders from their flets high in the trees,  
like the one at the Linluin.  
  
As for the Grey Havens, they told me that neither of them had ever  
been there in person. Perhaps Lord Haldir's travels had taken him  
there, and they suggested that I ask him.  
  
* * * * *  
  
I had met Lindir's family in Methentaurond - a brother with his wife  
and her family, but Lindir's bond-mate, as they called a wife of  
husband, had departed for Valinor long before. Later as we walked  
back toward the Great Hall to meet Lord Haldir, I inquired of Lindir  
if I could ask him a very personal question.  
  
True to form, Lindir replied that I might ask so that he might  
determine whether he wished to answer me or not.  
  
So I asked him if he missed his wife. He shot me a sharp look. I  
quickly said that what I meant was, seeing as how they had been  
separated for so very long, what did he. . . I meant, how could he.  
. .Oh! I thought, extremely embarrassed, was there any way to ask  
this without offending him in some way?  
  
You wish to know, he stopped and stated calmly, how I can bear to be  
parted from my love for so very long a time - how I can daily exist  
without her presence.  
  
Well. . . yes I said uncomfortably.  
  
This I will answer you plainly, he said, his wise gaze meeting mine,  
so that you will better know the hearts of the First Born. He led me  
over to sit on one of the benches that had been cleverly placed in  
recesses along the path.  
  
He bowed his head to look at the ground, then looked beyond me down  
the trail, as though remembering things long past. This is what he  
told me:  
  
He was not without her presence.  
  
He had found her when he was just over a hundred years old: His soul-  
mate, the one who he was meant to share his life with for all time.  
He had known it the first time he had set eyes on her, and she him.  
It had taken decades, however, for him to listen to what his heart had  
told him and to ask for her hand. She had waited for him.  
  
Their families had discussed the matter and had given them their  
blessing - their houses would be joined. And thus, he and she had  
given each other a promise ring, a silver ring each of their own  
design, as a token of their devotion. Not, he said, so different,  
really, from the ring that I bore around my neck.  
  
I looked down at Jason's ring. I had almost forgotten it was there on  
the chain around my neck, as I had not once removed it since Lindir  
had returned it to me. I fingered it absently as he continued.  
  
After their year of waiting had passed - never before or since had a  
single year passed so slowly to him! - a ceremony was held between  
their families and they exchanged gold rings, the symbol of their  
binding.  
  
Lindir held out his right hand for me to see the gleaming gold band on  
his index finger. Lord Haldir wore no such band on this finger.  
  
Then, he said with a faraway smile, he and she had walked hand in hand  
to their favorite place, a hidden glade they had discovered in  
Imladris, and they bound themselves to each other, body and spirit.  
  
From that moment when they became one, he had felt the comfort and  
promise of her presence in his heart, and in his mind. Even across  
the Wide Sea, he said, seeming to be amazed at this himself, he could  
dimly feel her warmth, her faint whisper in the background of his  
thoughts. He could not speak to her with his mind as before, now that  
she was no longer within the Circles of the World, but she was with  
him nonetheless.  
  
How different this was from my marriage to Kevin. We had loved each  
other deeply. We had completed sentences for each other, often  
seeming to know what the other was thinking. We had shared physical  
union, of course. But such a complete joining of mind and soul was  
not possible for us or any man or woman, and it was difficult for me  
to imagine what it would be like. Would I really have wanted Kevin  
inside my head, if that's what Lindir meant? Looking back, I think I  
would have welcomed it.  
  
No wonder I had seen no sign of casual affairs, though I supposed such  
a thing might occur before marriage. No wonder elves often faded, as  
Allinde had told me, at the death of a bond-mate. I thought of how  
difficult it had been for me when Kevin had died. To experience such  
complete intimacy as Lindir spoke of, then to have it suddenly  
stripped away, perhaps even feeling the dying mate's anguish? It  
would be unbearable! I thought again of Callo, who was never far from  
my mind.  
  
Then Lindir confided, bringing me back from such dark thoughts, that  
on rare occasions, by the Grace of the Valar, she still came to him in  
his dreams.  
  
I gasped, the unusual dreams I'd had of Lord Haldir rushing back to  
me. They had been so real, so powerful!  
  
I tried to collect myself, as Lindir was looking at me with concern.  
Had this happened before they were bound, I asked him, and was it  
intentional, or did it just happen?  
  
Lindir thought carefully, and I hung on every word of his reply. He  
had not been blessed thus, but he had heard of such a thing. To his  
experience it was not a purposeful thing one did, but rather that in  
their slumbering one unconsciously sought the other out. It was  
difficult for him to try and explain, he said. It was just part of  
the nature of things.  
  
I had never expected Lindir to be so open. Not wishing to even  
further impose on his privacy, and having much to think on myself, I  
thanked him for his candid words. It won't be long now, I said,  
squeezing his hand, until you see her again, and he rewarded me with a  
brilliant smile.  
  
Let us go now, he said, standing and helping me to my feet. Lord  
Haldir surely awaits.  
  
And he doesn't like to wait, I declared.  
  
* * * * *  
  
I returned from another challenging afternoon with Lord Haldir - I  
thought perhaps I had done better today - and checked on the gown  
hanging in my bedroom. My rooms still smelled like wine, but the  
scent was fading. The gown looked fine as far as I could tell - a  
nice even violet-brown. But it was still damp, and I thought that it  
needed some embroidery at the neckline or other form of embellishment  
like the other elleth's gowns- something was missing. Perhaps I could  
finish it by tomorrow.  
  
There wasn't as much rinsed-out wine in the basin as had dripped from  
the gown before I left. It seemed to be too much to have just  
evaporated. I looked suspiciously at Bruno, who was snoring more  
loudly than usual on the rug by my bed and had a rather damp snout. I  
had to go to dinner and wasn't about to trust that he wouldn't need to  
relieve himself before I got back, so I shook him awake and proceeded  
to call him toward the door. There was a distinctive hang-dog aspect  
to his demeanor. Darned if that big bear of a dog wasn't drunk!  
  
Eventually I got Bruno back to the stables, where he immediately  
curled up in a corner and went back to sleep. I filled a bucket with  
water and left it beside him. I knew that he would be fed: He  
received regular after-dinner visits from more than one attentive elf,  
and his midsection was now larger than when we first arrived. He had  
quickly become a mascot of sorts for the population of the caverns.  
In fact, he was becoming utterly spoiled.  
  
As I straightened back up to go to dinner, I noticed the rows of  
unused but well-maintained bridles and saddles along the walls. The  
fragrance of supple, well-tooled leather mixed with the smell of clean  
straw and made the stables feel warm and welcoming despite the absence  
of horses. Metal embellishments of superb, intricate flower and leaf  
designs decorated much of the leather. Some of it was wonderfully  
delicate-looking, although it would have to have been quite durable to  
withstand the heavy use it must have had.  
  
What a shame that these beautiful things were hidden away here where  
no one could enjoy them.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Being quite tired I came back to my talan early to rest. Dinner had  
begun to taste much better over the last few days, and the murderous  
looks in my direction had thankfully tapered off.  
  
But as soon as I lay down my thoughts began to race. Sleep eluded me.  
I couldn't get Lindir's words and my dreams out of my mind. Images  
of Lord Haldir played across my closed eyelids - the profile of his  
face in the garden, his strong arms stroking in the river, the way he  
looked at me when he was gauging my thoughts - and I tossed and turned  
in agitation. Did he dream of me as he slept? I wasn't an elf -  
could I receive such dreams from him anyway, because he was? Did he  
secretly yearn for me as I constantly did for him? But if so,  
wouldn't he show me in some way? Maybe he had, that afternoon when he  
had shown me the mallorn. Or maybe it was only the tree that he'd  
been concerned for.  
  
Finally I got back up, threw a blanket around my shoulders, and  
stepped out onto the deck outside my bedroom window. I lit a candle  
and curled up in a chair, hoping that the soft flickering glow and the  
twinkling lanterns would sooth me. I was staring into the candle  
flame when movement out of the corner of my eye told me that Lord  
Haldir had come out onto his terrace. Looking up toward him, I saw  
that he had discarded his robes and now wore a pair of the dark  
leggings and tunics that he seemed to favor. I watched as he spread  
his hands to lean heavily on the railing, and gaze out over the  
gardens. He seemed tired. He shifted his weight restlessly,  
something I never saw him do in the presence of others, and again I  
got the impression that something significant was bothering him.  
  
I hoped it wasn't his doubts about my abilities that caused him  
disquiet. I wanted him to be able to talk to me of what troubled him.  
I wanted to comfort him and be comforted. Part of and more than all  
of this, I wanted to love him.  
  
I did love him. My heart swelled with the most aching, overwhelming  
feeling. I stood and stepped onto the path as if compelled, the  
blanket forgotten, pressing my hands to my chest and nearly crying  
out, the joyfull sensation so physically intense that it was painful.  
I loved him.  
  
Gripping the railing, I stopped myself. I couldn't go to him like  
this. I had no control over my emotions. I would make a fool of  
myself, and I would be an unwelcome intrusion upon his privacy, the  
only time he had to himself. No, I would make myself go to bed, give  
myself time to calm down.  
  
I forced myself to turn away and go back onto the deck, feeling like I  
was swimming through thick syrup, every step a force of will. I bent  
down and blew out the candle. At once I felt rather than saw that his  
attention had been drawn to the extinguishing of the flame, and that  
he was looking down and across the bridges at me. Could he really see  
me here, against the dark wall of my talan? Still leaning over the  
candle, I closed my eyes and tried to open myself completely to the  
sensation.  
  
Nothing. I looked up toward the terrace again, but he was gone.  
  
*"Days of Future Passed", song and album by the Moody Blues **Ríw: Winter 


	16. Ch 16: House and Home

Title: The Tale of Marian Chapter: 16/? Rating: PG this chapter. Pairing: OFC/Haldir Genre: Adventure/Romance/perhaps a little Angst Timeline: AU, modern times. Beta: Kara Tanner Feedback: Welcomed, begged for, appreciated. Warnings: None. Author's Note: See Chapter 1 for disclaimer.  
  
* * * * * THE TALE OF MARIAN  
  
CHAPTER 16 – House and Home  
  
17 September  
  
Vanimë almost always eats in the Great Hall, either at Lord Haldir's  
table or nearby. Allinde, however, attends dinner in the Great Hall  
only occasionally, preferring to spend this time with Callo. Today I  
invited Allinde to sit with me at dinner, hinting only that I wouldn't  
want her to miss anything interesting. This drove Allinde mad with  
curiosity, but I refused to elaborate. We agreed to meet at my talan.  
  
I was nearly frantic with nerves by the time Allinde came. I inched  
the door open at her knock to make sure it was her, then pulled her in  
and shut the door behind her. I stood still in front of her, waiting.  
  
She looked at me curiously and asked me why we were hiding in my  
talan.  
  
I twirled around in a circle and stopped to wait again.  
  
The dress. . . I prompted.  
  
Yes, very nice, Allinde replied, if you plan on going riding, but  
since we have no horses. . . Wait, she said. Don't tell me you  
talked Vanimë into making you a proper gown - and you didn't tell me!  
  
Oh thank you Allinde! I exclaimed and threw my arms around her. Then  
I explained to her proudly that it was the same green gown that  
Allinde had seen on me before, I had told no one what I was doing, I  
was dying of nervousness about whether I should wear it or not, and  
what did she think I should do?  
  
I can't wait a moment longer, Allinde declared with glee, dragging me  
back to the door. She ordered me to explain it all to her later, but  
that we were going to dinner - now!  
  
We entered the Hall as the evening meal was being placed on the tables  
and people were just beginning to filter in and take their seats.  
Neither Lord Haldir nor Vanimë had arrived yet, and in my nervousness  
I alternately prayed that either of them would, and wouldn't, come to  
dinner this night. I was in fact more nervous at the prospect of Lord  
Haldir's reaction than I was at Vanime's.  
  
I received a few glances as we walked across the hall toward the  
tables, and I looked longingly back at the entrance.  
  
Don't you dare try to leave, Allinde threatened me.  
  
Lindir arrived and gave me a knowing look as he joined us on our way  
to the table. Is there a parade tonight that I am not aware of? he  
asked, shooting an inquiring look at me and then Allinde, but I had no  
idea what he was talking about. Spilled wine, eh? he bent over and  
whispered in my ear as he held my chair out for me.  
  
An elleth whose name I had forgotten broke away from a group that was  
looking in our direction and intercepted us as we were about to sit,  
greeting us graciously.  
  
Is this one of Vanimë's new gowns? she asked me, curiously eyeing the  
neckline. How very ingenious, she said approvingly, and motioned for  
the others to come over. Soon there was a group of elleths, and even  
a few ellons, gathered around me discussing my garment. It was  
becoming rather embarrassing - I hadn't meant to cause a scene, after  
all. Vanimë was the only one whose attention I had intended to  
attract.  
  
So naturally she came in at that very moment, immediately noticing our  
noisy little group and the object of attention at its center. She  
made purposeful but graceful strides straight toward me without  
hesitation, a look of outrage on her face.  
  
Vanimë, Allinde said as the little crowd parted before her, leaving me  
trapped in the middle with no escape, you have done a beautiful job.  
  
Yes, so ingenious! exclaimed the elleth whose name I couldn't  
remember, and the rest of the group nodded in agreement.  
  
What a wonderful idea, Vanimë, Lindir stood and approached her, his  
face expressing perfect gentility. Marian has just been telling us  
how pleased she is with your work.  
  
Has she, Vanimë said, her expression now controlled. She eyed me  
critically, then looked around her at the appreciative group, whose  
size had continued to increase.  
  
I am grateful, I stepped forward and assured her pointedly.  
  
She had no polite choice but to acknowledge my thanks, which she did  
with a slight nod of her head, never taking her eyes from mine, like  
an opponent in a battle. I hoped I had not made a serious error in  
judgement.  
  
Although the color does become you, she said aloud in a carefully  
neutral tone, the cut of the garment is not quite up to my standards.  
  
Well, of course I assumed that you were training someone, I offered,  
but I find it quite acceptable. Then I added quite sincerely that one  
day, if she could find the time herself, I would be greatly honored to  
wear something truly fine from her own hand; as many here had told me  
of her expertise.  
  
Statements in support of this fact came from those around us.  
  
Vanimë was about to respond when the crowd parted respectfully to  
reveal Lord Haldir. He swept his perceptive gaze over us all, and I  
blushed instantly. I had felt completely off-balance all day whenever  
I was in his powerfully masculine presence, and this moment was no  
exception. Whether he would consider what I had done an appropriate  
response or just an immature prank for which he would judge me harshly  
again, I had no idea. I wondered how long he had been standing there,  
and how much he had overheard.  
  
His eyes raked over the garment I wore, and again I felt totally  
exposed and vulnerable under his examination. Then he looked me in  
the eye with an unreadable expression.  
  
"Ah, Vanimë, he pronounced, turning at last to her, "the formal livery  
of the Galadhrim has for too long been forgotten. I commend you for  
bringing it forth, into the light again."  
  
In chagrin I finally understood what Allinde and Lindir had been  
commenting about. I'd had no idea that the metalwork would be so  
recognizable for its former use. There must have been specific  
designs used only for the horses. I thought I had begun to understand  
the elves, but I had so much more to learn.  
  
Vanimë lowered her eyes under his scrutiny. Then to my surprise she  
looked serenely back up at me and replied that the embellishments had  
been my idea.  
  
"Indeed?" Lord Haldir said, appraising me again quite thoroughly, at  
which I blushed yet again. "I am most pleased," he said seriously to  
us both, and motioned for everyone to sit for dinner.  
  
It was the first compliment that he had ever given me, and I felt as  
giddy as a teenager. Vanimë acknowledged me again with a slight nod,  
and I nodded back. As we sat down, Allinde nudged me under the table  
and smiled.  
  
I spent the meal glancing over at Lord Haldir whenever I thought no  
one was looking my way. I couldn't help it. Every movement he made,  
every nuance of expression, every play of light and shadow on his  
noble features was a treasure to my eyes.  
  
Since that moment a few nights ago on my deck I have been unusually  
self-conscious in Lord Haldir's presence, distracted in thought, and  
overly sensitive to his criticisms. I am usually more assertive and  
very focused; I am not comfortable with my increased emotional  
vulnerability. He has given me several questioning looks these past  
days, and I suppose he is wondering what is wrong with me. I long to  
tell him of my feelings for him, but first I need to find my bearings  
again.  
  
After dinner he excused himself and retired again through that same  
archway, Vanimë following shortly thereafter. Maybe one day he would  
invite me to go with him, and I would know where he went every night,  
and why he seemed so troubled after.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Perhaps something different is in the cavern air tonight - everything  
seems to be changing, and I feel tension in others, not just myself;  
but in Callo most strangely of all.  
  
Lindir, Allinde and I had gone back to him, bringing dinner from the  
Hall and trying to coax him to eat. We couldn't get him to eat  
anything tonight, only take the infusion that I had prepared, and  
drink some miruvor, which is a cordial and a favorite of his. I hoped  
that these things would give him a little strength.  
  
At one point Lindir began to spin an elaborate story for Callo about  
Marian and the horse gown. I think he is practicing it for endless  
repetition. By tomorrow it will most likely bear no resemblance to  
what actually happened, but that's alright with me. I knew he was  
just trying to cheer Callo up. Whether Callo was completely aware of  
us and of his surroundings, or was listening to Lindir's story or not  
I couldn't tell.  
  
Shaking my head at Lindir's artistic license, I picked up the dark  
crystal paperweight and stared into its depths. Abruptly, Callo sat  
straight up in his bed, extremely agitated, and motioned wildly at me,  
an expression of horror on his face. His sitting up was a shock in  
itself, as he had not able or willing to do so in many days. I froze  
in confusion, not able to understand what I had done to upset him so  
much.  
  
No, he said weakly between gasping breaths. Houseless, he whispered  
frantically, and looked furtively toward where Allinde was putting  
away the miruvor. No, he said again, pleading with me.  
  
No what? I thought. I looked desperately at Lindir for help.  
  
I think he wants you to put the paperweight down, Lindir said, trying  
to calm our friend, who nodded up and down desperately. Houseless, he  
repeated in a whisper, and put his finger to his lips as Allinde came  
back over to see what the matter was.  
  
I quickly put the paperweight back on the table with shaking hands,  
and Callo sank back onto the bed in complete exhaustion. Allinde  
asked what had happened, and looked from us to Callo in concern. She  
wasn't the only one who was confused, but Callo gave me another wild  
pleading look which I did understand: I was not to tell Allinde what  
he had said.  
  
Perhaps you should go and come back tomorrow, Allinde said  
apologetically, smoothing Callo's brow in concern. I gave Allinde a  
reassuring hug and nodded to Callo as I kissed his cheek to assure him  
that I would not betray his confidence. Lindir and I left  
immediately.  
  
Once we were out of earshot, which I am slowly learning is a lot  
further away than it would be for mortals, I stopped Lindir on the  
path.  
  
What was wrong with him? I asked Lindir. What's houseless? Is a  
paperweight houseless if it isn't on top of paper? Why would that  
bother Callo so much, and why not tell Allinde? What did I do to  
upset him so much? I don't understand, I asked, feeling guilty and  
confused.  
  
Slow down, Marian, and sit down, Lindir said, and guided me to the  
bench along the path that we seemed to be making regular use of.  
  
Lindir looked at me in equal confusion.  
  
I do not know what happened, he said shaking his head in frustration.  
I do not understand Callo's reaction, but he certainly did not want  
Allinde to see you holding the paperweight.  
  
Then Lindir said that he could at least explain who "the houseless"  
were, although he couldn't make sense of why Callo would speak of  
them.  
  
Them? I repeated. Callo looked so afraid for Allinde. Who are they?  
No one in Methentaurond is homeless, I said, and if they were, they  
wouldn't be dangerous!  
  
That may not be entirely true, but it is highly unlikely, Lindir said  
cryptically. The Houseless, he then explained, were not elves that  
did not have a home, but the spirits of the dead who no longer had a  
body to live in. They were those elves who, after death, had refused  
the Call of Mandos. Instead they remained in Arda, unseen, clinging  
to places or objects that had held meaning for them in life.  
  
You mean ghosts - ghosts of elves? I asked. Having lived in the Gold  
Country, with its historical abundance of hangings, ghost stories and  
ghost sightings, I had no difficulty believing Lindir's words. Are  
you saying that Callo thinks that his crystal paperweight is haunted?  
  
No, that cannot be, Lindir said with a heavy sigh. Marian, that  
paperweight has been in Callo's house for hundreds of years, and has  
been handled endless times. Callo has never been anything but proud  
of it.  
  
I'm sorry Lindir, but perhaps he was hallucinating, I said gently.  
His mind does seem to be in another place much of the time now.  
  
Then a horrifying thought came to my mind, and I asked Lindir if Callo  
died, would he become one of the Houseless?  
  
No, Lindir replied in an assured voice. Callo will follow the Light -  
he will heed the Call to go to the Halls of Waiting, and be reborn  
again.  
  
I then asked Lindir if the Houseless were dangerous, and he replied  
that they often were. It was said by the wise that those who did not  
answer the Call refused because they were already tainted by the  
darkness in the world. Some ever searched to find and inhabit the  
bodies of living persons too weak or gullible to refuse. Some, even,  
were wholly evil, the servants of Morgoth, spreading darkness in the  
world where they could.  
  
But what the Houseless might have to do with Allinde, or Callo's  
crystal, he could not guess.  
  
We both agreed that we could not upset Callo by touching the crystal  
again, but beyond that we didn't know what to do.  
  
Allinde may know something we do not, Lindir said. Perhaps I should  
speak to her of this.  
  
Oh no, Lindir, please don't, I begged him, and told him that I had  
promised Callo not to say anything to her about it.  
  
I heard you give no promise, Lindir said in confusion.  
  
He asked, and I promised, with our eyes only, I replied. But I did  
promise.  
  
Lindir regarded me in indecision, but finally nodded. I will not  
speak to her yet, he said.  
  
Thank you, I said, and started to rise from the bench.  
  
But I may reconsider if Callo's fear about this returns, Lindir said,  
stopping me with a hand on my arm. It was your promise, not mine.  
  
We'll see what happens, I agreed, placing my hand over his.  
  
As we started back along the path arm in arm, Lindir stopped me again.  
Would you betray a confidence, Marian, if you had to do so in order  
to save someone's life?  
  
Are you saying that Allinde might really be in danger? I asked in  
fear for my dear friend.  
  
I have no idea, Lindir said. But I do not believe there are any  
Houseless in Methentaurond. Would you? he repeated.  
  
It would depend on the situation, and the consequences, I replied  
carefully. But if I knew for certain that I wouldn't endanger someone  
by doing so, then I must, I admitted.  
  
Lindir patted my hand and we walked on. He seemed to be reassured by  
my response.  
  
* * * * *  
  
I can't sleep again. I've whiled away the candlelit time tonight  
trying to sketch Lord Haldir from memory. I can do it with Lindir,  
why not with Haldir? His features and his personality are so  
difficult to capture, and my skills are lacking.  
  
At last I see from where I have propped myself up on my bed to write  
that he has come out onto the terrace again. I will not lie and say  
that I have not been waiting to see him there, like a vision in the  
dark lantern-lit night.  
  
Conveniently, I recall my intention of asking to look down on the  
gardens with him.  
  
And I don't have decades or longer, as Lindir had, to decide what to  
do, to tell him how I feel and to know if he feels anything for me, as  
I hope he might. My time is running out.  
  
He appears more troubled than I have seen him before - this time I  
know I'm not imagining that this is so. The pure white aura that  
always comes from him, more visible at night, seems slightly dimmer or  
darker somehow, this new development worries me greatly, and I pray  
that he is not becoming ill. I could not live if he was ill! This  
time I won't sit here and pretend I don't see him. I can't stand to  
see him upset, night after night, not knowing why.  
  
Come what may, I am going to him. 


	17. Ch 17 Who Then Can Warm My Soul?

Title: The Tale of Marian Chapter: 17/? Rating: PG this chapter. Pairing: OFC/Haldir Genre: Adventure/Romance/perhaps a little Angst Timeline: AU, modern times. Beta: Kara Tanner Feedback: Welcomed, begged for, appreciated. Warnings: Angst. Lots of it. Author's Note: See Chapter 1 for disclaimer.  
  
* * * * * THE TALE OF MARIAN  
  
CHAPTER 17 – Who Then Can Warm My Soul?*  
  
18 September  
  
The Elf Lord has spoken: I am leaving tomorrow.  
  
My heart is doubly broken. I can't seem to stop crying - how can one  
person have so many tears to shed? The very foundation I have relied  
on is but a phantom now shattered into nothingness; the future that I  
had begun to construct was built only in my imagination, on shifting  
sands that only pretended to be solid ground. Things I thought were  
real and true have turned out to be something else entirely. Which  
thing hurts the worst I cannot say. But oh God help me, I hurt so  
much!  
  
I went to him last night - I couldn't help myself. I threw on the  
delicate robe that Allinde had brought me and ran down the meandering  
path past tree-pillars and across bridges until I stood catching my  
breath under the fragrant vines of the trellis at the top of the  
terrace steps.  
  
He stood still with his back to me in leggings and undershirt. In the  
subdued lantern-light I could see from the profile of his sculpted  
muscles that his posture was strained. His hands were tense where  
they gripped the terrace railing, his attention on some spot in the  
garden below. I was nervous at the prospect of disturbing him, but I  
had come this far and would not turn back.  
  
My Lord, I quietly called to him, for he always smiled a little when I  
addressed him this way. I received no answer or acknowledgement of my  
presence. Since when had he become less than absolutely aware of  
everything around him?  
  
I ventured across the terrace to stand beside him, my robe making soft  
sounds with my movements. I slipped my hand over one of his on the  
railing, sure that he had heard me approach.  
  
In one lightening fluid motion he turned on me, danger shooting from  
his eyes like obsidian arrows, his entire body tensed for action. The  
light that surrounded him flared into brilliance. I snatched my hand  
away and reeled back at the immediate overwhelming power emanating  
from every part of his person. I had taken him by surprise after all.  
  
Then he saw it was me and just as swiftly he relaxed his stance, his  
features cleared and the air around his skin returned to a pure,  
subdued glow.  
  
"Marian," he said ruefully, "it is not wise to assail one of the  
galadhrim so, for your own safety."  
  
I thought you heard me, I apologized breathlessly, in awe of this  
fearsome side of him that I had only glimpsed until now. I don't mean  
to be such a bother, but you were in such deep thought, and. . .  
something is wrong, I can tell.  
  
He made a motion to dismiss this, but I rushed on, afraid that he  
would ask me to leave before I had the chance to speak further.  
  
My Lord, your brother - your advisor - is still not here and I think  
you have need of him.  
  
At my presumptuous statement a look that I was clearly a warning came  
over his features. I was not approaching this subject tactfully at  
all, but it was too late to start over. I became a little annoyed at  
this display of male pride.  
  
You told me, I said, that every leader needs an advisor, and I don't  
know why but yours is not here right now, and I wish to offer myself  
in his stead.  
  
I looked at his closed, stubborn features and sighed in  
discouragement.  
  
Haldir, I began more softly, and took his hand once more. He raised  
his eyebrow, I suppose, at the liberty I took in dropping his title.  
I know that something is bothering you. I don't mean to pry. . .  
  
"Then do not do so," he cautioned me. I ignored him.  
  
. . . but I have seen you here for the past few nights - well, more  
than the past few nights, I admitted when his eyes looked in mine  
knowingly, and something IS wrong. I want to help, even if to listen  
is all I can do.  
Won't you tell me what troubles you?  
  
"What could trouble me other than the trouble you give me each day?"  
he said dryly.  
  
The trouble I. . . don't try to change the subject, I said when I  
saw the faint twinkle in his eye. I am not a child.  
  
"No, not a child," he agreed, raising my hand and regarding my fingers  
laced in his, his thoughts veiled. I waited for him to continue,  
hoping he would open up to me as he so briefly had in the boughs of  
the mallorn.  
  
Are you not feeling well? I asked fearfully, and he looked at me in  
surprise.  
  
"I am well, in the way that you mean" he said, frowning, "though  
somewhat uneasy in thought of late, as you have observed. But you  
have cares enough of your own. Do not be burdened by the cares of the  
elves as well: We are not your concern."  
  
Not my concern? I repeated, boldly moving closer to face him. You  
think so little of me, then, that I should turn my back and leave you  
to face your cares alone?  
  
"A leader must face many things alone," he lectured me and let go of  
my hand. His voice held no self-pity, only ageless strength and that  
same intense pride I had become accustomed to.  
  
I turned and lowered my eyes to the garden below, oblivious to its  
charms. His proud walls were too well constructed; I told myself. He  
wouldn't let me in. He was not going to tell me.  
  
He moved to stand beside me, and looked at the silent garden with me.  
  
A leader doesn't have to face everything alone - you have told me as  
much many times, I complained to the garden below.  
  
We continued staring silently out into the flowers, side by side,  
until I started to feel ridiculous. Maybe, I thought, I would have to  
go now.  
  
Then unexpectedly he said, "The way West is ever open to the immortals  
and in the Grey Havens ships are ever ready to sail away forever**,"  
as if quoting from something, his voice low and rich and sad.  
  
Have you seen the Havens, I asked hesitantly, still looking over the  
garden and remembering my conversation with Lindir and Corudring.  
  
"Once, long ago," he replied, "when the Lady of Light returned to the  
West. I saw her, Cirdan the shipwright, and others to their leaving."  
  
But you did not leave with them, I prompted him a little, afraid to  
push too much. You returned to the forest.  
  
"The call of the mellyrn on that day was stronger in my heart than the  
call of the Sea," he said, and I wondered if his voice held some  
secret regret.  
  
Allinde has told me that no one now knows where the Grey Havens lie,  
or even if they still exist, I said. And surely Men would know if  
there was a harbor with elven ships in it. I don't understand how you  
will leave.  
  
My eyes widened as I finally understood the full gravity of their  
plight.  
You don't know! I said, turning to stare at him. You don't know how  
to leave, and you haven't told them!  
  
"Not yet," he said, still gazing at the garden, "though the time draws  
near when I must."  
  
What can I do? I asked him.  
  
"The departure of the elves is my responsibility, Marian, not yours,"  
he said firmly, turning to look down at me. "You must concern  
yourself with your own path, the path of your own people. That alone  
is your responsibility. All I expect from you is to keep this  
confidence."  
  
Of course, I promised, but you can't ask me not to care, or not to try  
to help, I protested, careful to hide the depth of my concern. They  
could not be stranded here, to die slowly one by one. It was  
unthinkable! It couldn't be what the Valar had intended!  
  
Perhaps it doesn't matter from where you set sail, I said, trying to  
comfort him, only that you do so.  
  
"Perhaps - I do not know," he admitted reluctantly, "though I and  
others have searched long for the answer."  
  
You will find your answer. The Valar will guide you, I assured him,  
drawing closer and reaching up to put my hands on his broad shoulders,  
trying to show him the confidence that I had in him. I raised my head  
back to look up into his eyes, for even though I was tall, he was much  
taller still.  
  
You are meant to return home, I said, and stroked his strong jaw with  
my fingers, pouring all the love that I had for him into my eyes.  
Haldir, I said, caressing his name with my voice, you will find a way.  
  
He looked down at me, his dark and fathomless eyes becoming tender,  
and in their now sparkling depths I thought I saw a hint of love  
returned. My desire to be one with him pushing every other thought to  
the back of my mind, I slipped my arms slowly under his hair and  
around his strong neck. The long silken sleeves of my robe slipped  
off of my arms to pool around my shoulders, and he brushed his hands  
down my bare skin to enclose my upper arms in his warm grasp. My  
heart flying to him, I stood on my tiptoes and kissed him.  
  
It was like my first dream but in reverse. I pressed his full,  
sensuous lips with my own, waiting to see if he would respond. For a  
split second I felt his lips move over mine, felt him begin to pull me  
against him. Then just as suddenly, he tightened his grip on my arms  
and pushed me away, almost springing back like a wild thing escaping a  
snare.  
  
"Marian, this cannot be," he said gruffly, standing apart from me on  
the terrace. "There can be nothing between us."  
  
And my heart broke.  
  
Was it because I was mortal and he was an elf, that he did not want  
me?  
  
But Beren and Luthien, I began, looking down at the terrace floor. .  
.  
  
"Lindir has only begun tonight to recount the Lay of Luthien, Marian.  
Their fates were intertwined; ours are separate. Look at me Marian,"  
he said firmly, and stepped forward again to raise my chin with his  
hand. "You must stay and I must go. Such a thing as this is not  
meant to be."  
  
I searched his eyes and saw nothing but pity, and this I couldn't  
bear. My eyes filled with tears, and I backed away across the  
terrace.  
  
I'm sorry, I said, I thought - I misunderstood - everything. I'm  
sorry, I said, and ran through the arch and down the stairs. I  
wouldn't let him see me cry; I wouldn't let him hear the agony I felt  
at his rejection. I flew down the long path to the stables, where I  
could be alone, and sank down in the straw. Bruno came over and  
licked my face, and I broke into tears.  
  
Sometime before dawn I had composed myself enough to walk back to my  
talan and wash my face. I looked into the mirror in my bedroom at my  
features, now haggard and drawn from weeping. Had the taste of my  
lips offended him? Did he consider me ugly? Then I thought, how  
could he be attracted to me? He was immortal. I was forty-five years  
old. I was starting to get wrinkles. What elf had wrinkles? I could  
live until a hundred or die tomorrow. Why would he want to spend my  
remaining few years watching me turn old and die, in a blink of his  
eye? Why should he possibly want me?  
  
Then I heard a knock at the door. I smoothed my hair down as best I  
could and answered it.  
  
The elf to whom I opened the door looked at me with concern, then  
composed himself. The elves were nothing if not polite. He then  
informed me quickly that Lord Haldir wished me to meet him at his  
talan this morning instead of at the river, and ran on down the path  
to his next destination.  
  
How could I face him this morning? I had made such a fool of myself  
last night, and I still felt like bursting into tears at any moment.  
I wondered if Vanimë had talked this elf into delivering Lord Haldir's  
message instead of herself. Telling myself that delaying the  
inevitable would only make things worse, I gathered my things and  
headed toward the baths. An indirect message was at least better than  
none at all.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Wearing the violet gown and hoping that my face didn't betray my now  
fragile emotions, I nervously knocked on the front door of Lord  
Haldir's talan.  
  
"Enter," his resonant voice called from within. As I reached for the  
door, however, it opened and I found Vanimë facing me, her long blond  
hair damp and free from its habitual braids. Carrying a platter of  
half-eaten bread and fruit, she turned a questioning glance to the  
center of the room and reluctantly stepped aside to allow me to enter,  
then walked out past me and closed the door.  
  
So that's how it was, I thought painfully, and I felt my face flush  
with embarrassment. Had he brought me here so that I would see the  
hopelessness of my desires? I had no doubt he had the capacity to be  
cruel if he wished to be, but I hadn't thought that he would be so to  
me.  
  
I looked about the room to distract myself from this depressing  
thought – I had never been in his private quarters before, and the  
dichotomy of its austerity and rich beauty nicely mirrored his  
personality: The minimal amount of dark wooden furniture of clean,  
pure lines and skillful carving; the deep red velvet curtains in the  
arch that probably led to his sleeping chamber; the many-colored  
tapestries on the wall whose silken threads shimmered in the light of  
the white candles still burning as the caverns shed the first glow of  
morning through the beveled glass dome above; the structure of the  
room itself, its beautifully proportioned columns twining up and  
branching out to support the dome like living, breathing plants; and  
finally the orderliness and lack of clutter in the room that  
emphasized the few precious objects displayed there, including, to my  
bittersweet delight, a golden harp in the corner.  
  
But these things I noticed only in passing, for as I stepped into the  
room my eyes were drawn to the figure framed by the divan whose  
presence easily commanded the room. In black formal leggings and  
boots and a deep blue tunic that extended to his knees, Lord Haldir  
reclined on one elbow with his silver-blond hair flowing over the arm  
of the divan and reaching almost to the polished wooden floor. One  
long leg was extended down the divan and the other propped up on the  
cushions. I thought (rather viciously I admit) that if Vanimë had  
still been there with a fan and a bunch of grapes, the picture would  
have been complete.  
  
As I came forward to meet him, he rose smoothly off of the divan, his  
silken braids falling behind him. With my heart in my throat, I felt  
that he had never looked so fair nor radiated such utter masculine  
power as he did at that moment. I saw him clearly for what he was  
then: Utterly unobtainable; untouchable as the stars; as untamable a  
wild force as the sea itself. I blushed again at my awkwardness and  
audacity in trying to win his heart.  
  
He came toward me and reached for the outer robe that lay ready across  
a nearby chair. He threw it around his shoulders, expertly binding it  
at the waist with the finely tooled silver belt of his office which  
had most assuredly never been worn by a horse.  
  
I watched his marvelous hands as he did these things, wanting to kiss  
his palms, his fingers, hear him react, torturing myself with the  
other places that those hands might have touched, if only. . .  
  
I looked up to see that once more he had read my thoughts but chosen  
not to acknowledge them. Apparently my mind was full of an endless  
variety of ways I could humiliate myself in front of him. Standing  
here in his private rooms alone with him, neither of us speaking, was  
becoming increasingly uncomfortable. When would he say something! I  
tried to look confidently across the few feet between us, doing all  
that I could to mask the pain in my eyes. His features were as still  
and unreadable as most of the elvish texts that I had struggled with,  
but at least he no longer looked at me with pity.  
  
"Marian," he began, and I closed my eyes to savor the familiar, rich  
timber of this voice, "presently we will join Lindir in the Council  
Chambers. I wish to speak to you briefly here first."  
  
Oh please, I begged silently, don't talk to me about last night, but  
he didn't.  
  
"The time has come for you to leave," he said matter-of-factly, and my  
eyes flew open. He was sending me away, today, because of what I had  
done!? Uncontrollably, my mouth began to quiver and I cursed myself  
for my weakness.  
  
"Not because of what has occurred between us," he said in a gentle  
tone that tore at my heart, "but because you are ready."  
  
He paused, but I dared not try to speak.  
  
"I will inform Lindir that you are coming in a moment," he said,  
looking at me with concern, and left the room.  
  
Grateful for the sensitivity he had shown me and ashamed of thinking  
him cruel, I took some needed moments alone to compose myself, then  
followed to the Council Chambers in his wake.  
  
Still, I wondered at what he had suddenly seen in me that told him I  
was ready. Certainly I didn't feel any better prepared than before.  
But if Lord Haldir said I was ready, then I was ready; I respected his  
judgement far better than my own, and I knew he would not lie to me.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Discussing who I should bring back with me allowed me to focus on  
something stable. I recited my list of the fields I would need  
experts in. Lindir nodded approval at most of my choices and advised  
me on the others. I expressed my concerns freely about bringing  
strangers into Methentaurond. I feared that the secrecy of the elves  
would be jeopardized; there was always one traitor in every group, I  
said. At this, a brief but knowing look passed between Haldir and  
Lindir that I almost missed. Again Lord Haldir told me that the  
safety of the elves was his to ensure; I was to heed only the  
achievement of my own goals.  
  
The morning wore on. The final decision, Lord Haldir said to conclude  
the conversation, would be mine alone.  
  
I would leave tomorrow, they said. I had four months.  
  
Four months! I protested. Four months to hike back, identify and  
locate the people I would need, convince them to follow me, organize  
them in secret, and return here undetected? It wasn't enough time!  
  
It was all the time they had, Lord Haldir reminded me, and I relented.  
It would have to be enough. I would be ready to leave with Bruno  
first thing in the morning, I told them. I wanted to say goodbye to  
Allinde and the others first, tonight.  
  
"You will have time to say your goodbyes tomorrow," Lord Haldir said.  
"We will leave at dusk and travel under safety of darkness." Then he  
added when I looked at him, not understanding, "I am coming with you."  
  
Why? It would not be safe for him! I protested at once, although I  
fervently desired him to be near me. It was too risky, I said, he  
would be seen, and then what would happen to him?  
  
"They will only see what I wish them to see," he said then. I didn't  
understand at all. How could he possibly hide his true nature, if for  
no other reason than he would stand out for the very power of his  
presence?  
  
Marian, Lindir said then, there are elves that freely travel among  
Men, live with them even for a time, and they have yet to be  
discovered.  
  
Besides, Haldir then explained, he would accompany me only as far as  
the trailhead where we would meet his brother, who would assist me.  
He himself had other business to attend to.  
  
The Havens, I thought, and I nodded to him in understanding.  
  
Four months of research, travel and preparation, I wondered again.  
Where would I ever get the money? The realities of my life outside  
came flooding back. I had been gone for over a month. I likely had  
no job, and my mortgage, my bills! I would lose my credit. I would  
have to sell my house, I realized; that in itself could take four  
months! And my daughters to be provided for, and Jason - what would  
they think had become of me?  
  
My family; Jason! I exclaimed. What if someone was looking for me? I  
couldn't afford that kind of attention.  
  
"All has been seen to in your absence. Do not be dismayed," Lord  
Haldir assured me.  
  
By who? I asked in bewilderment.  
  
At this question, a significant look passed between Lindir and Lord  
Haldir, and once again I knew there were things I had not yet been  
told; things I should have picked up on but hadn't. With a feeling of  
dread that I couldn't justify, I waited for this new revelation.  
  
"You have seen this painting before, is it not so?" Lord Haldir asked  
obliquely, gesturing to the large mural that covered one entire end of  
the Chamber.  
  
Well, yes, I replied. I had looked at it briefly when I had  
accompanied them to council sessions, but I had been more attentive to  
the proceedings than to the decor. Obviously it was a commemoration  
of some sort.  
This was not a painting that Lindir and I had discussed.  
  
"It is time," Lord Haldir said, "that you examine it more closely."  
  
I accompanied them across the Chambers to stand in front of the mural.  
  
"It celebrates the journey of departure, when the Kings of Men and  
Elves, both the living and the dead, rode forth from Gondor rejoicing  
in the defeat of the dark lord Sauron, to return home or depart for  
the Sea.  
  
Here rode King Elessar and his bride Arwen, daughter of Lord Elrond,"  
he intoned in a voice vibrant with memory, moving his fingers across  
the scene. "Elrond there was also, and his two sons. Here lay King  
Theoden of Rohan's golden bier, and the halflings, and Gandalf the  
White. Here also rode the Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn, and many  
other captains and knights of Men and Elves."  
  
That is you! I exclaimed, pointing directly behind Galadriel at the  
clear likeness of Lord Haldir. With proud bearing and in golden  
armor, a red cape draped from his shoulders, a long bow and quiver of  
arrows at his back, he led the armed elves that walked respectfully  
behind her. Can this be the armor that lies in your study, I asked  
him in awe, and he said that it was.  
  
Who is this? I asked then, pointing to an elf that walked next to him  
and looked much like him though more delicate in features.  
  
"My brother Orophin," he said fondly, "who departed into the West with  
the Lady, and awaits our return."  
  
But I thought your brother, your advisor, was here? I asked in  
confusion, looking back at Orophin's likeness. Then, standing close  
by Orophin, I saw a face that I knew. But that was impossible.  
  
Who is this? I pointed at the mural and inquired with a lump in my  
throat.  
  
Lord Haldir raised his hand and touched the ring around my neck. Had  
I not yet understood, he asked me?  
  
At first I refused to believe what I saw before me. I was not willing  
to let go of the reality I had known; not willing to recognize the  
friend that I thought I knew so well for who and what he really was.  
  
Then I forced myself to remember the signs I had been given: Lindir  
telling me that his promise ring was not so different from Jason's;  
the gestures that Lord Haldir had made that had given me such a  
feeling of deja-vu; Lord Haldir, kneeling down and talking to Bruno  
just the way Jason had so many times. I remembered Jason's graceful  
movements, the masculine beauty of his form and his long blond hair.  
And my heart broke again.  
  
"This is my brother Rumil, whom you know well," Lord Haldir said, and  
his compassionately aimed words struck me like he had thrust a sword  
into my ribs.  
  
You lied to me! I accused them, both of you!  
  
We did not lie to you, Lindir said calmly.  
  
You didn't tell me, and that's the same thing! I yelled at them both.  
And you! I screamed, turning on Lord Haldir and pointing my finger at  
him. All of those talks we had about Jason - did I have a friend?  
What sign was he? You knew and you never said a thing! How could  
you!? How could you!?  
  
Lindir opened his mouth, but I pointed at him and sobbed: Don't you  
tell me I wasn't ready! How could I ever be ready for this! And  
Lindir closed his mouth, unsure what to do about the distraught female  
in front of him.  
  
"Marian, Rumil is a true friend," Lord Haldir began, and stepped  
toward me with his arms extended as if he intended to comfort me.  
  
I stepped back. Don't TOUCH ME! I screamed at him, and he stopped  
and dropped his arms, his eyes smoky and dark, his jaws clenched, his  
mouth set. Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew I was hurting him,  
and stepping over a dangerous line.  
  
He is no friend - he pretended to be my friend so that I would come  
here! I hate him! I trusted him and he betrayed my trust, and so did  
you! I declared in anger and misery. I trusted you, I sobbed  
brokenly to Lord Haldir, I believed in you!  
  
You are right, I spat out the words, I am ready to leave.  
  
Yanking the chain with Jason's - no, RUMIL'S - ring off of my neck, I  
threw it to clatter hollowly across the floor. I turned and ran from  
him once again. And once again he let me go.  
  
* * * * *  
  
I didn't go to my sessions with Allinde or Gladrel today, nor to spend  
my afternoons with Lindir or Lord Haldir. I didn't go to dinner in  
the Hall, or listen to Lindir and the elves after. I stayed alone in  
my rooms with Bruno and packed, and no one disturbed me.  
  
I was embarrassed and humiliated: They had done a fine job of  
manipulating me, Lindir and Lord Haldir and his brother - Rumil. I  
had not suspected a thing. Now when I thought back I remembered  
little things, and it all fit - my screensaver of the redwoods;  
shopping for backpacks with Jason - no, not Jason. His friendship and  
encouragement had all been a ruse. Jason did not exist.  
  
I didn't wait for Lord Haldir to appear on the terrace tonight. I  
closed my curtain to the nighttime beauty of the caverns, and sat in  
the darkness with my memories that were only illusions, and the broken  
shards of my dreams.  
  
*From the song "Exile"; Enya 


	18. Ch 18: A Taper in a Rushing Wind

Title: The Tale of Marian Chapter: 18/? Rating: PG-13. Pairing: OFC/Haldir Genre: Adventure/Romance/perhaps a little Angst Timeline: AU, modern times. Beta: Kara Tanner Feedback: Welcomed, begged for, appreciated. Warnings: Some angst. Author's Note: See Chapter 1 for disclaimer.  
  
* * * * * THE TALE OF MARIAN  
  
CHAPTER 18 – A Taper in a Rushing Wind*  
  
19 September  
  
My goodbyes were few and brief. It was hardest to say goodbye to  
Allinde and Callo. Allinde because, in spite of my anger and hurt at  
the deception I had been subjected to, she had had no part in it and  
had become a fast friend. Callo, because even though he had been ill  
since I had met him, his goodness had shone through and I was not sure  
he would be here by the time I returned.  
  
I had not been able to hide my depression from Allinde, so I simply  
told her about Jason, blubbering like a baby in front of the fireplace  
in her library. This was embarrassing in the extreme because I never  
blubbered in front of anyone. My wounded feelings for Lord Haldir I  
kept to myself. She comforted me like a mother would comfort a  
daughter, and reassured me that Rumil had meant no harm. She said  
that I should forgive him, as I knew she would, but her words fell on  
deaf ears.  
  
Rumil - I said the strange name over and over. There was no Jason  
anymore - he was dead, if he had ever been there at all. There was  
only a heavy, consuming emptiness, like a black hole, beckoning me  
down into its depths. I wasn't sure how hard I wanted to fight the  
blackness. I am ashamed to say that in the back of my mind I even  
questioned Allinde's friendship as she comforted me, so unsure was I  
now of the genuineness of those around me. Yet it was her  
understanding that held me back from the brink of utter despair.  
  
And I was worried about Allinde. It was very difficult not to tell  
her what Callo had said. Then again, what could I say? In spite of  
his confusing warnings, I couldn't imagine how she could be in any  
danger here. No, it was better not to upset her over what was  
probably nothing more than the hallucinations of the very ill.  
  
I insisted that Callo be brought along as far as the entrance doors.  
He hadn't been outside since I'd arrived, and Allinde and I both  
professed that it would be good for him. So, Lord Haldir allowed us a  
small escort on our way out into the forest: Allinde, the healer  
Lomion, Callo carried on a palfrey carried by two sentries, and  
Lindir, who I was not speaking to.  
  
Neither could I trust myself to speak to Lord Haldir except to answer  
direct questions as briefly as possible, when he spoke to me at all.  
For the most part he simply studied me grimly, his aloof silence more  
scathing than words, and left me to wallow alone in my misery. I  
would have assured him this was a wise course of action, if I had been  
speaking to him; which I wasn't.  
  
Our group gathered on the wide white marble balcony from which I had  
first beheld Methentaurond a little over a month ago. Trying to keep  
my composure - for I felt that I might break down at any casual  
phrase; be blown over by any errant whiff of air - I stared out over  
the twinkling caverns in the pre-dawn darkness, thinking that it  
seemed like it had been so much longer. Though I was trying so hard  
not to feel anything, trying to shut my emotions deep inside,  
Methentaurond still reached through my defenses to awe me.  
  
Then Vanimë of all people appeared with a small bundle that she  
presented to me rather like, I thought, a queen bestowing a small  
scrap to a peasant in passing.  
  
I accepted the bundle from her, not sure that I could deal with her  
right now and not at all sure, whatever it was, that I wanted even  
more weight in my backpack. But as I took it I discovered that it was  
almost weightless.  
  
A cloak of the galadhrim, Vanimë said formally, it will shield you in  
need from unfriendly eyes. She looked significantly from me to Lord  
Haldir. Obviously she considered me a danger to his safety and wished  
me to be as invisible as possible.  
  
At the moment I wanted nothing more than to be invisible.  
  
Thank you, I forced myself to say, I will use it well. A look of  
understanding passed between us. At least we had found something that  
we could agree on.  
  
Allinde offered in the awkward silence that followed that such  
garments were skillfully made from one length of specially woven  
fabric, without waste.  
  
I glanced at Lord Haldir's cloaks, which were of the same fabric and  
color - I had a hard time deciding whether they were brown, gray,  
green, or some other blended tone. He wore one wrapped around the  
dark gray leggings and tunic that he favored; the other draped  
gracefully from his shoulders.  
  
I looked curiously back at Vanimë. Dared I hope that this was the  
something of her own making at last, without booby-traps or other  
malicious tricks to be discovered?  
  
WHEN you return, Vanimë emphasized, I will instruct you in its making.  
  
Caught slightly off-guard while I wondered: Did she actually want me  
to come back? I told her honestly that I was very interested in her  
offer.  
  
Vanimë nodded to me. Then with a hand on her heart and low words of  
farewell to Lord Haldir alone, she excused herself.  
  
I patted Bruno on the head and frowned at Lord Haldir while we waited  
for him to lead us out. I couldn't decide whether I wanted him with  
me or not. So much had happened yesterday. Though he and Lindir had  
deeply hurt me, I found that I loved him no less than before. How was  
I going to deal with being alone with him for over a week? It hurt to  
even look at him.  
  
I felt cast adrift and almost hopeless. Almost. There is always  
hope, I know, no matter how deep one sinks inside. But hope was a  
shiny quarter at the bottom of a deep pool, too deep to hold my breath  
to reach. Knowing that it was down there, appearing and reappearing  
far under the turbulent surface, wasn't helping me right now.  
  
I tried not to stare resentfully at Lord Haldir's small roll of  
belongings as I adjusted my heavy backpack on my shoulders. He  
carried little - a compact bedroll, a well-worn but finely tooled  
quiver of arrows, and the long carved bow I had first seen him with.  
Doubtless there were knives in his belt as well, hidden beneath his  
outer cloak. He moved with ease, unencumbered by these things as  
though they were a familiar extension of his body. His hair was  
gathered and braided down his back, with smaller braids above each  
pointed ear, and a single long lock of silken hair trailing in front  
of each ear over his chest. He looked amazingly tall and strong and  
masterful. Not discounting Bruno entirely, who looked completely  
disgusted that he was again carrying a dog food pack on his back, Lord  
Haldir looked like the best protector a woman could ask for. Then  
again, he didn't look like he could blend in as a common backpacker.  
Perhaps even more than Vanimë, I was nervous for him. What would we  
do if he was seen?  
  
Contrary to Lord Haldir's burdens, the weight of the few things I had  
left behind was more than compensated for by the notebooks that I had  
determined to bring, with the addition of a few leaves and flowers  
pressed between the pages with Gladrel's permission. They were heavy  
as all get-out, but how else was I going to convince anyone that I  
wasn't a complete lunatic? Even with them, my chances of anyone  
believing they weren't a hoax were slim.  
  
Determining that we were ready, Lord Haldir briskly led us away from  
the entrance hall and down a set of stairs away from the Great Hall,  
Lindir, Callo's entourage and Bruno close on his heels. What was  
this? Had he changed his mind? Allinde and I looked at each other  
for answers. When she and I didn't immediately follow, he stopped and  
pivoted back to us with a swirl of cloak and flaxen braids.  
  
"Do you or do you not wish to use the Linluin Door?" he inquired of me  
with that maddeningly superior look of his, and spun away from us on  
his heels again.  
  
Allinde and I followed him, but I didn't answer. I told myself that  
it was too little too late - I didn't even care any more.  
  
* * * * *  
  
I will not say here where the Linluin Door lies, or how it is opened:  
Someday this journal may fall into the wrong hands. I will only say  
that Methentaurond, though underground, is organized more like  
Lothlorien than I would have realized: Like a double-edged sword,  
there is both security and risk in redundancy. The door was not, to  
say the least, where I had been searching for it. Nor was it,  
exactly, what I had been searching for. Like most things elvish, it  
was so deceptively simple that you could walk past it, look at it over  
and over and never see it for what it really was.  
  
It was, I decided with a flash of anger, like Rumil. Suddenly I  
didn't like this door at all.  
  
We emerged into the moonlit forest. I had finally convinced Lord  
Haldir that in spite of the elves' compulsion for secrecy, I couldn't  
see well enough to travel in the dark of night. He had reluctantly  
agreed to leave as early in the pre-dawn hours as possible, which I  
supposed, in the mind of an elf, somehow didn't amount to the same  
thing.  
  
The rays of Ithil, as the elves called the moon, rippled across the  
Linluin on a faintly chill breeze that swayed the ferns and the thin  
understory of smaller, slender trees, and whispered through the boughs  
of the redwoods far above. Tar-Caranorn, in these early hours before  
dawn when colors faded to grays and sound, smell, and movement  
reigned, was as magical and mysterious as its name.  
  
Bruno sniffed the air in excitement, eager to be off into the trees,  
but we lingered by the pool with Callo. It was a full moon, but some  
stars could still be seen in the pale night sky. The sentries brought  
Callo out onto the broad flat rocks over the pool and set down his  
palfrey. We settled down next to him and gazed at the night sky.  
Callo smiled faintly, his face thin and almost transparently pale but  
still refined and beautiful, as the trees cast shifting moonshadows  
across his features in the breeze. It had been good to bring him  
here.  
  
Callo lifted one hand weakly toward the sky. My eyes followed his  
movement, and the shadows shifted to bathe his hand momentarily in  
moonlight. I sucked in my breath and Lindir's eyes caught mine from  
the other side of the palfrey, sadly warning me not to react. His  
look told me that what I had seen had been no trick of the moonlight:  
Callo was fading. I had seen the moon's rays filtering through, not  
around, his hand.  
  
My heart sank, if that was possible, even further than it had since  
yesterday. I am certain he will be dead by the time I return. I am  
thankful for the small blessing that no one else has yet become ill.  
Beyond my own concerns, I fear always for all of the elves.  
  
Lord Haldir got up to fill a water-skin in the pool, then stood and  
tied it to his belt. It was the sign for us to go. I leaned close to  
Callo and told him I would remember his words and promised to return  
as soon as possible. I carefully kissed his cool brow, barely holding  
my grief in check. I don't know if he even heard me. Then I hugged  
Lomion and Allinde. I turned toward Lindir awkwardly, and realized  
that even though I had tried to harden my heart toward him, I didn't  
want to leave him with nothing but ill will. Regarding all else  
besides Rumil, he had been a fast friend. He held out his arms and I  
allowed his embrace. Aderthatham, teacher, I told him - which like  
saying "au revoir" in French, means "Until we meet again;" or "We will  
reunite."  
  
Lord Haldir said his goodbyes as well, and we started down the forest  
path that was dim but visible where the moonlight reached the ground.  
  
But before we entirely left the clearing I remembered something and  
stopped.  
  
Aderthatham, Orodren! I called softly into the trees.  
  
Aderthatham, Marian, may Ithil and Anor shine on your path, came the  
faint response from far above.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Lord Haldir immediately established a pace that would have been  
difficult for me to follow even if I had been in the best of spirits.  
In my present frame of mind, each leaden step forward was an  
individual concentrated decision. He and Bruno had no trouble seeing  
clearly into the shadows between the moonlit areas of the trail, but I  
did. I stumbled several times on unseen roots and pinecones, but held  
my tongue, and struggled to hold myself together and keep up.  
  
A few hours later as dawn neared, the clear forest air transformed  
into a thin, damp fog, curling around the trunks of the huge trees in  
the slight breeze, hovering just above and depositing a layer of dew  
on the shadows that defined the waist-high undergrowth, and on me as  
well. This was what the redwoods loved, this morning and evening fog  
that their leaves drank in as it hovered all around and under their  
canopies. Then slanting shafts of sunlight began to penetrate the  
trees like fat, yellow laser beams and lift the fog. Stepping into  
these shafts of intense brightness made the next shadowed area  
momentarily impossible to see into until I stepped out of the light  
and into the shadow beyond.  
  
To me this had always been the hour that the forest was the most  
beautiful, the most spiritual. Usually, I could almost feel and hear  
the trees breathing in the moisture and the sunlight; feel their age  
and quiet majesty. Yet the trees seemed to have turned their backs on  
me this morning, and I felt nothing from the forest. I was alone and  
isolated from all of the awakening things around me: the trees, the  
ferns, the birds - everything.  
  
This was an hour for predators, I thought, as I startled a small  
rabbit from its hiding place under a broad fern near the edge of the  
trail.  
  
I could see that Lord Haldir was in his element, alert and vibrant,  
gliding silently among the trees far ahead, with Bruno trotting behind  
him. Once in a while Bruno would at least look back and wait for me  
and then bound forward to walk at Lord Haldir's heels again. Probably  
because I made noise walking, Lord Haldir didn't bother to look back,  
but walked ahead always just enough in sight that I knew he hadn't  
completely deserted me. I could see him most clearly when he stepped  
through a shaft of sunlight; when his hair glinted golden in the  
golden sun. He was removed from me as well, a welcomed, wild and  
intangible part of the forest that had rejected me this morning. In  
his elvish cloak he blended perfectly into the trees, and if the trail  
bent even a little or if he stood still I would lose sight of him  
completely. Of course he hadn't stood still yet, so neither had I.  
  
I soon came to admit that swimming had not been good preparation for  
hiking. The trail was mostly downhill, but my ankles and knees were  
starting to get wobbly. I wasn't going to kill myself running to keep  
up with His Highness all day - if I did I would be a stiff, aching  
half-lame mess in the morning. I was 45 after all, not 20.  
  
I stopped when I reached a flat, wide spot in the trail. He could  
keep going if he wanted to, and my big dog too, for all I cared. I  
could get lost and starve, for all he cared, I was sure.  
  
I slid my backpack gingerly off of my shoulders and stretched my legs,  
relieved to be rid of at least one burden for a short time. I pulled  
off my sweatshirt and then had to slap a mosquito off of my arm. I  
had run out of repellent, but at least they weren't as bad now as they  
had been earlier in the summer.  
  
As I thought he would, even though I had not called out to him Lord  
Haldir turned and backtracked to me, Bruno in tow. I slapped away  
another mosquito in irritation. Haldir was blond and fair-skinned,  
and I was brunette. Why weren't the mosquitoes chewing him up?  
  
"It is early yet," Lord Haldir remarked reproachfully when he reached  
me.  
  
I need five minutes, I said, and sat down.  
  
"That is acceptable," he replied in a tone that said otherwise. Then  
he disappeared in to the trees.  
  
For once Bruno stayed with me, lying down against my hip and half  
pushing me off of the rock I was perched on. Good Bruno, you big  
bear, I said, stroking his thick brown fur. At least I had one friend  
I could count on to be nothing but what he was.  
  
I had better not find out that you really ARE a bear, I grumbled at  
him. He smiled at me and drooled.  
  
Five minutes later Lord Haldir returned silently out of nowhere. I  
felt like Dorothy in an alternate OZ universe. I bit my tongue just  
in time to stop myself from blurting out "My! People come and go so  
quickly here!" in what would have been an extremely rude and sarcastic  
voice. Then I saw what he held out to me in his hand: huckleberries!  
- not the blue ones, but the sweet red ones whose bushes preferred the  
small sunny meadows to the shade under the trees. The red ones were  
not nearly as common - wherever had he found them?  
  
I accepted the half that he offered me. I was grudgingly touched by  
his gesture in spite of how deeply upset I was with him. And I wasn't  
so stupid as to refuse to eat.  
  
"These bear fair memories for you," Lord Haldir commented, easily  
reading my expression.  
  
Yes, I said, but I didn't offer an explanation. Had they been  
watching me since childhood then, too, or was his comment only an  
innocent reaction to my expression? I hated being so suspicious, and  
right now I didn't want to know. I needed some shred of privacy, even  
if it might be an illusion.  
  
The rest of the day passed much the same way: Haldir pushing me to my  
limit and only stopping when I insisted on resting. At this rate we'd  
be back down at the trailhead in half the time it had taken me to get  
up. I wondered, briefly at first, if something was driving him to  
hurry or if this was simply his usual pace. By mid-afternoon I was  
exhausted and even Bruno was lagging, and it had become a burning  
question that was making my bad mood progressively fouler. Finally I  
broke our long silence and asked him.  
  
Turning and shooting me a look of triumph that I had spoken first, he  
told me dispassionately that he had arranged a meeting some time  
before and was averse to leaving his contact waiting for long. He had  
not planned on my company nor had he expected to travel so slowly.  
  
I told him he was completely welcome to go on without me - Bruno and I  
would be fine on our own.  
  
I was not sure of the way, he declared.  
  
I snorted and said that I thought I could find my way back to the  
beach without his help - all I had to do was go downhill until I got  
there.  
  
"I will not abandon you," he said with a hard glint in his eye, and  
turned to continue down the trail with Bruno behind him. His ramrod-  
stiff posture shouted that I had insulted him.  
  
I stood up stiffly and followed.  
  
By late afternoon I simply could not go any further. It clouded up  
and began to sprinkle; then progressed to a downpour. It is only  
almost Fall, but the weather is growing much colder than I brought  
suitable clothes for. In spite of the elven cloak, I am soaked to the  
skin. Once Lord Haldir, perfectly composed in this weather, saw me  
continue to falter in the rain and the mud, he declared that we would  
stop now for the night and rise again before dawn. Bruno and I  
recognize this place - it is where we met Adam and his parents.  
  
My fingers, my feet, my whole body is stiff and chilled so that I  
cannot stop shaking, and the rain soaks into my very soul.  
  
*From "You Do Not Own Me", a poem by Sara Teasdale 


	19. Ch 19: The Woods Are Lovely, Dark, and ...

Title: The Tale of Marian Chapter: 19/? Rating: R this chapter. Pairing: OFC/Haldir Genre: Adventure/Romance/perhaps a little Angst Timeline: AU, modern times. Beta: Kara Tanner Feedback: Welcomed. Warnings: None. Author's Note: See Chapter 1 for disclaimer.  
  
* * * * * THE TALE OF MARIAN  
  
CHAPTER 19 – The Woods Are Lovely, Dark and Deep*  
  
21 September  
  
It is the Autumn Solstice - the first day of Fall. Lord Haldir says  
there will be a celebration in Methentaurond, with a feast, and  
dancing, and songs of thanks to the Valar. Our celebration is more  
humble, consisting of lembas that Narwen made for our departure -  
quite good, actually - a salad of forest greens that Haldir has  
promised are quite edible, venison jerky, and my leftover trail mix.  
He had intended to shoot a rabbit, but I begged him not to and he  
indulged me with a shake of his head and a long-suffering sigh.  
  
I have discovered that Lord Haldir likes chocolate, but haven't let on  
that I've noticed. I caught him picking the M&M's out of my trail mix  
when he thought I wasn't looking. Some things are the same for elves  
and men.  
  
We have made a peace of sorts with each other, enough to move on with  
though it took some doing. (The subject of his brother still hangs  
heavy in the air between us.)  
  
That first night in the unseasonally harsh downpour was the beginning.  
I had tried to see through the cold sheets of rain in the darkening  
forest to find a hollow tree to take shelter in, but there was none to  
be found. The rain was too much for me, washing away my last reserves  
of strength and leaving me raw and open to the despair that was rising  
inside of me. I looked around to see that Lord Haldir had  
disappeared, and Bruno too. My efforts at trying to stay dry or warm  
long wasted, I took off my backpack, my cloak and my sweatshirt and  
sat on the wet ground, raising my face in surrender to the pummeling  
rainstorm and allowing it to finish drenching me as it was so  
insistently trying to do. I was cold and weary of fighting it; weary  
of fighting Haldir and myself.  
  
The rain stopped beating on my face: I opened my eyes to see him  
standing over me, holding his cloak over my head. His eyes were dark,  
black almost in the gloom under the cloak.  
  
Bruno had come back also, barking at me in agitation.  
  
"I have found shelter," Haldir pronounced so as to be heard over the  
pounding rain, and pulled me to my feet.  
  
Lifting my backpack onto his own shoulders, he clasped his arm firmly  
around me and steered me a short way down the trail. Chilled and  
weaving with fatigue, I gave him no resistance when he veered off of  
the trail into the undergrowth, pushing uphill through the wet ferns,  
allowing him to lead me where he would. Before I even saw it he  
ducked me under a low arched woven latticework of vines and small  
trees. I found myself on my knees on a roomy platform strewn with a  
soft layer of leaves and needles, perfectly hidden among the trees  
above the trail. It smelled of fresh herbs and pitch, and was  
marvelously dry inside. Haldir ducked in next to me and laid my  
backpack and cloak down in a corner next to his bow and quiver.  
  
"This is one of many hidden flets along the trails," he said, pulling  
off his wet cloak and boots and laying them aside.  
  
He spoke briefly in Bruno's ear. Bruno stopped near the entrance,  
turned himself in circles and burrowed down into the leaves, his face  
toward the rain outside.  
  
"We will be safe here for the night," Haldir said, and turned to me,  
his dark eyes widening with concern. I was curled in upon myself,  
dripping and shivering, not caring that I looked like something dug up  
off of a lake bottom.  
  
"You must remove your wet clothing.  
  
Marian," he said, grasping my boots and removing them himself when I  
simply stared blankly at him. When he reached for my sodden t-shirt I  
shakily pushed his hand away.  
  
"Marian, you will allow me to do this for you. I do not wish you to  
become ill," he said in an adamant yet reasonable voice that somehow  
reached through to me, and I silently allowed him to remove my  
clothing. He did so, gently, like one would a weary child. Then he  
loosened my sleeping bag from my backpack and unzipped it, laying it  
over me like a blanket. I stayed where he left me, my mind and body  
too heavy and listless to move. My head began to clear somewhat,  
however, as I saw that he had begun to remove his garments as well.  
Though his body was now a familiar sight to me, this situation was  
different and somehow more personal. I watched intently as he removed  
his belt, tunic, undershirt and leggings in brief succession, folding  
them neatly and placing his knives and bow near at hand. Then, in  
nothing but a pair of what looked suspiciously like black silk  
department store briefs, he slipped under the sleeping bag with me and  
drew me close.  
  
In a few moments I stopped shivering with the cold, warmed by Haldir's  
body cupped around my own. As I burrowed down into the fragrant  
leaves, I became acutely aware that he cradled my head on his  
shoulder, his broad hard chest pressed against my back, his hips and  
long muscular legs curled behind mine and his free arm wrapped around  
my stomach, holding me tight against him. Every molecule of my body  
coming alive against his smooth, silky, warm skin, soft chest hair  
tickling my back, I snuggled back against him. Through everything  
that had come between us, I had never stopped caring, aching for him.  
That he had offered this new closeness, this unasked-for gift of his  
bare skin on mine, renewed my desire for him tenfold. Wary of being  
rejected once more but needing to reciprocate in some way, I took his  
free hand in my own and kissed his fingers, then brought his hand down  
to rest against my heart. He became aroused in response, his breath  
growing shorter and slightly ragged, but he didn't push away from me.  
He continued to hold me tightly, wordlessly against him, allowing me  
to feel the hardness and heat of his desire. I breathed in the scent  
of him, not daring to move, reveling in this precious intimacy that I  
had craved but never expected from him, and discovering, bitter-  
sweetly, that it felt righter than anything I had ever known, even  
with Kevin.  
  
He made no further move to act upon his physical condition. How many  
Men would have done the same? My whole body on fire in spite of my  
exhaustion, I rode on the rise and fall of his chest as he brought his  
breathing under control and his arousal subsided. Perhaps pressing so  
firmly against any female would have done this to him. After all, he  
was only trying to help me get warm. I told myself that I should not  
assume any more from it than that. Still, the rain beat on the living  
roof of our shelter and he held me close and dry, feeding both my body  
and soul with his warmth. He might just as easily not have offered.  
  
Yearning to know more, I arched my back slightly and curled my legs  
more tightly around his, pressing the area most in need firmly back  
against the front of his loincloth. His arousal returned, and his  
arms and legs tensed as he backed away a fraction of an inch.  
  
"Marian," he protested with a low growl deep in his throat. I relaxed  
my back and legs and smiled into his shoulder. So, he wasn't  
completely immune from a mere mortal after all.  
  
I'm sorry, I said softly to him a few moments later, curling my  
fingers further around his hand, so much larger and stronger than  
mine. I'm sorry that I yelled at you and Lindir.  
  
"You were afraid, Marian; you remain afraid," he said sternly but  
gently, and he squeezed my hand in return. "It is your own fear that  
you must defeat, or it, not you, will determine your actions."  
  
Then he whispered, almost as though he was talking to himself, "We did  
not intend to hurt you, Lindir and I.  
  
"After you came to us," he continued slowly, "I may have. . .  
erred. . . in not telling you sooner."  
  
Are you trying to apologize to me, Haldir? I asked him, turning over  
far enough to see his face.  
  
"I thought that was evident," he said a little uncomfortably. "I wish  
to ask your forgiveness."  
  
I will consider it, I replied, catching his frown as I turned back  
over again. I felt him adjust his position. So, the Elf Lord did not  
like to make mistakes any more than I did.  
  
"Neither did Rumil intend to hurt you," Haldir tried to apologize for  
his brother. "Rumil is alone and in peril every moment in your world,  
and could not trust to strangers, even you, for his own safety."  
  
I was not a stranger, Haldir, I said, hurting anew at the thought of  
Jason. I knew him for years, or thought I did. He was not alone - he  
was with me. He should have known that I wouldn't do anything to  
endanger him.  
  
He should have known, I repeated slowly, growing sleepy with fatigue,  
and a tear I could not hold back escaped my eye and dropped onto  
Haldir's shoulder.  
  
"Rumil could not take the chance that even an unintentional gesture or  
word on your part might reveal him. He would not have imposed this  
burden on you.  
  
Would you have come to us if you had known?" he asked me.  
  
Yes, I replied, if he had asked me I would have come.  
  
"You will make your peace with my brother," Haldir said after a  
moment's silence, brushing the wet hair back from my face with the  
utmost tenderness, speaking surely as though by his words alone it  
would be so. "Anor will shine again. Sleep now. Shhhhhh. Oloro."**  
  
* * * * *  
  
I awoke some time in the night to find that the rain had stopped and  
there was an empty space where he had lain beside me. Bruno remained  
asleep in the front of the flet, and Haldir's quiver and arrows were  
still there, though his knives were missing.  
  
Stiff and sore, I put on dry clothes from my backpack and, dragging my  
fingers through my hair, crawled out of the flet and into the pale  
moonlight. It was clear again - I could see the stars through the  
gaps in the trees. I saw him then, in a patch of moonlight, partially  
dressed and reclining against the trunk of an enormous redwood.  
  
He watched me silently as I approached and sat down beside him to look  
up at the vast canopy of stars.  
  
"The crown of Seven Stars shines brightly tonight," he commented, and  
I asked him to tell me where.  
  
"Here," he said quietly, pulling me close with our cheeks touching so  
he could show me. "And here," he continued as he drew a line across  
the sky from star to star with his index finger.  
  
The Great Bear, I said when, following his finger, I recognized one of  
the few constellations that I knew.  
  
"We call it the Sickle of the Valar; a sign set in the sky by the  
Great Ones to remind Morgoth of his coming doom.  
  
There's Cassiopeia, I said and showed him the main stars in the  
constellation, as best I could remember them. I told him that in myth  
she was doomed to forever sit first right-side up, then upside-down  
for declaring herself and her daughter the fairest of beings, fairer  
even than the Greek Gods.  
  
"It is known to us as Wilwarin - the butterfly," Haldir said. "But my  
favorite will not be visible here for some weeks yet, especially from  
within the trees. Soon it will appear low in the southern sky."  
  
And what is your favorite? I asked, feeling the bliss of nestling  
against his side and wanting to live this precious moment with him to  
the fullest.  
  
"Menelmacar - Swordsman of the Sky," he replied, and I smiled. How  
fitting for this warrior elf to favor such a constellation.  
  
Orion, I guessed aloud, the great hunter? Then I drew back from him  
so that I could better look at his face. He is my favorite as well, I  
said.  
  
At this his features, which had been relaxed, grew quite serious.  
  
Of course he is one of the few that I can find, I admitted wryly, not  
wanting to seem too forward though it was true - Orion had always been  
my favorite.  
  
But Haldir continued to look at me quite solemnly, and took my hand in  
his, intertwining our fingers as he had on the terrace not so long  
ago.  
  
"I have come to a difficult decision," he said, and I waited for him  
to continue, alarmed at the gravity of his face and his voice.  
  
"I release you from your promise," he said.  
  
Which promise, I asked, laughing nervously. You can't mean my promise  
to care for Methentaurond......but he did, I could tell from the look  
in his eye, and I went suddenly numb.  
  
So, I confronted him, in spite of how hard I have tried to live up to  
your standards, I have failed you - you want to choose someone else.  
  
Finding strength inside myself that I didn't know I had and panicking  
at the thought of losing everything, I fought back. My promise was  
not made to you alone, Haldir, I retorted. You have no right to  
release me from it!  
  
He bristled immediately, leaping to his feet and towering over me. "I  
am the leader of my people. I have the right and I do release you."  
  
I stood up as well, and faced him with my arms crossed, speechless at  
his arrogance. I felt hurt and betrayed again. I would not lose this  
task that I had invested so much in.  
  
"You are overemotional. Your fears will become your people's fears  
and they will paralyze you all. This I cannot allow."  
  
Overemotional? I said incredulously. How very like a male, I thought,  
and how very unfair.  
  
I think I have been maintaining my emotions pretty well, considering  
what you and Jason - Rumil - have put me through. Haldir, I tried to  
reason with him, I am not leading right now, I am following you down a  
hill. As a matter of fact, this may be the last time in my life when  
I'm NOT leading someone - one time when I thought you would understand  
if I wasn't confident and perfect and emotionless, like - like you.  
  
I could see an undercurrent of nameless thoughts cross his features  
one after another, then the mask covered his face again, the doors  
snapped shut, the walls went up, and I knew that, without meaning to  
do more than defend myself, I had hurt him again.  
  
"I am far from emotionless, Marian, he said in a deep, hollow voice,  
"but I do not allow my emotions to rule my actions. I control them,  
as I must; as my position requires me to."  
  
Even now? I asked him, miserable that I couldn't make him understand.  
We are not in Methentaurond now, Haldir. Must you control what you  
feel, even now when it is just you and me?  
  
"Especially now," he said, his beautiful features becoming even more  
unreadable than before; his words holding many levels of meaning that  
I could only guess at.  
  
Do you really think I could just walk away and never look back? I  
asked him in disbelief, searching his face for answers. We have been  
through this argument before. No, Haldir. I will not desert you. I  
made a promise about something much more important than my own  
feelings, and I will keep it.  
  
You can't keep me from coming back.  
  
Haldir raised his eyebrows at this statement but did not comment.  
  
I can and I will do this, I continued when he still did not speak.  
You gave me this responsibility and you will not take it away.  
  
Again he was silent, and I tried to contain the rising panic that I  
felt. I would prove it to him. I had to.  
  
Besides, I said, drawing on every stubborn fiber in my being, I saw  
Callo in the moonlight - you said yourself that you don't have time to  
choose someone else. I would appreciate it if you would stop messing  
with my head and trust me.  
  
Finally he spoke, an unexpected look of confusion rising in his eyes.  
  
"Have I not shown you the mallorn? he asked. "Have I not shown you  
the Linluin Door and allowed you to leave, trusting that you will come  
back and not betray us? My peoples' lives I have willingly placed at  
your mercy. What more do you want from me, Marian?"  
  
I couldn't find the words. What I wanted from him was his approval  
and his love, but he would give me neither.  
  
Finally I answered: I want my friend back.  
  
"You have never lost him," Haldir replied, but I shook my head.  
  
I'm no good at reading people, but I had a gut instinct that there was  
more than one reason that Haldir was trying to let me go.  
  
You have not been satisfied with me from the beginning. You could  
have sent me away at any time, but you didn't, I said. Why now?  
  
At first I thought he would refuse to respond. He seemed to waver a  
little, which was quite uncharacteristic of him. His answer, when he  
gave it, was not at all what I had expected.  
  
"I do not wish you to continue to suffer as you have these past days,"  
he said, stepping closer to me and running a finger down my cheek.  
"We cannot demand so much of you, for any reason."  
  
A lump rose in my throat, and I looked up into deep, clear ancient  
eyes that had grown sorrowful and disheartened.  
  
Is this how I had affected him by wallowing in self-pity? I scolded  
myself.  
  
My feelings have nothing to do with my promise. I will be fine,  
Haldir.  
  
Who is making emotional decisions this morning, I then asked him  
boldly, for the sun was now rising through the trees.  
  
He removed his hand and stared at me, taken aback by my words.  
  
It's late, I said. We should be going.  
  
Tearing my gaze away from his by a great force of will and hoping I  
had not angered him, I turned toward the flet to pack my things.  
  
* * * * *  
  
I toughened up after that. No matter how I feel, I have determined  
not to be a burden to Haldir in any way. I pushed myself harder than  
ever to keep up with him, and soon we found an unspoken compromise in  
our pace that was acceptable to both of us. In fact, I think we fell  
in quite comfortably together, dividing our duties and complimenting  
each other's efforts.  
  
Thankfully, Haldir has not mentioned letting me go again and I hope he  
has dropped the idea altogether. It doesn't matter - he won't change  
my mind and he knows it. I wondered briefly if he only said it to get  
me to fight back, but that doesn't matter either. If he thinks he has  
seen me stubborn before, he's going to come to an awakening now.  
  
As the last days have passed, I have recognized little things that  
Haldir does - a gesture, or an expression - that remind me of Jason.  
At first this only served to remind me bitterly of Rumil's deception,  
but as the days have worn on I have begun to find it somewhat  
endearing, and I've become curious as to what they are like when they  
are together. I know I won't understand Haldir without understanding  
his relationship with his brother, which appears to be quite close.  
It's not every brother who chooses a younger sibling as an advisor.  
In the immortal life of elves, though, perhaps birth order is not so  
important.  
  
So far we have met only two solitary hikers on the trail, it being  
late in the season. On both occasions Haldir has simply disappeared  
into the trees before even Bruno has known someone was coming. The  
hikers both passed Bruno and me uneventfully, but we are getting  
closer to the shorter trail loops nearer the trailhead. I worry more  
and more what will happen when we do come across more people, on a  
short weekend or day hike in the woods, or later, lingering around the  
parking lot. We surely will soon.  
  
Though it has not rained since our first night on the trail, it is  
still cold at night. I was surprised but pleased when Haldir slipped  
in beside me again the next evening without comment, although with  
more clothes on. This sweet arrangement has continued, though it  
causes me a great deal of frustration, as it appears to do him as  
well. I want nothing more than to turn over and wrap myself around  
him, feel him on me and inside me in that most complete of intimacies.  
I want to make him groan and cry out, I want to see him lose the  
monumental control that he always holds over himself and hear him lose  
himself in pleasure. I long to be the pleasure that he loses himself  
in.  
  
But I don't turn over. Though I am confused at the mixed signals I  
receive from him, on the terrace he told me quite clearly that there  
could be nothing between us, and I remember Vanimë even more clearly  
in his rooms. I am not a house-wrecker. So I lie in his arms, glad  
for what intimacy he will share with me.  
  
It is these sweet private moments before we fall asleep when we speak  
of personal things, like my childhood memories of picking  
huckleberries in warm summer meadows with my father or later, sharing  
the same kind of sticky, messy fun with my two daughters.  
  
In return, Haldir gives me brief glimpses into his own childhood. The  
story that touched me most tenderly was this:  
  
Haldir was a young child of 20 or so. It was a fine summer day  
in Lothlorien, and his parents took him and his two brothers on  
a leisurely walk, picnic basket in hands. Rumil insisted on  
carrying his new bow, a gift from his father. Upon arriving at  
their favorite spot outside the city, a small sunny glade along  
the Niphrodel, Haldir and Orophin immediately jumped in the  
stream to swim. While their mother settled in the shade near  
them to relax and watch the two boyx, Rumil, eager to try his  
luck with his first box, excitedly asked their father to take  
him on a hunting expedition. Their father cheerfully indulged  
his child, and they set off into the forest.  
  
A leisurely hour passed along the side of the stream. The boys  
became hungry, but their mother smiled and told them that they  
would wait for the two to return before eating.  
  
The next thing Haldir knew, Rumil burst through the trees and  
dashed toward his mother, carrying a young gosling, its wing  
obviously broken, tears running from the boy's eyes. His father  
followed not far behind, a wise and gentle look of experience  
upon his face. Rumil had shot the young goose, his first. But  
instead of a clean kill, he had only succeeding in wounding the  
creature. Aghast at the suffering he had caused, he begged his  
mother to heal the bird. Their mother examined the gosling  
while Haldir and Orophin hovered over her with Rumil and  
comforted him with sympathetic comments from their own first  
hunting experiences. Communicating all to their father with but  
a look, the boys' mother declared to Rumil that the bird was  
only slightly injured. She called Haldir to her side, and told  
him that it was he who should heal the bird.  
  
Haldir's mother had begun to teach him the healing arts, but he  
had never been called upon before to use what he was learning in  
a real situation, especially not one in which a crying sibling  
was depending upon his success. His mother quieted the small  
family, and slowly, with a reassuring hand on his arm, she  
guided Haldir through the steps he needed to follow to heal the  
bird.  
  
Thus it was a day of firsts for Haldir as well. He grew in self-  
confidence and healing ability, and was proud that he had helped  
his younger brother, so much so that they cried together after  
it was done and the gosling flew away above the trees.  
  
So I learned that Haldir had set out to become a healer and a scholar  
in the beginning. But as the need for the defense of Lothlorien grew,  
he turned his scholarly ambitions toward learning the languages and  
the ways of the strangers that increasing surrounded and confined the  
elves' world, and exchanged his healing herbs for bow and arrow, and  
sword. The more he trained and fought, the greater his skills and  
renown as a military leader grew, the more his healing abilities  
lessened. Yet he retained some skill even now, and had even  
experienced somewhat of a return of his abilities as the need for  
secrecy grew and the frequency of open combat decreased.  
  
I could see this elf's pride in his family and the sweet, private side  
of his heart as he told me this particular story, and a wave of  
tenderness for him surged through me, so strong that for a moment I  
couldn't breathe. He was laying behind me, his head propped up on his  
hand, and I turned so that I was on my back looking up into eyes that  
were glowing with fond memories. My own eyes must have told him what  
I felt for him at that moment, for I longed to tell him that I loved  
him, but I couldn't - I was still too raw from the days just past.  
  
I was held fast by his gaze. His expression transformed into  
something I couldn't fathom and he leaned down over me, closer and  
closer, like he was being pulled almost against his will, like  
something inside him was at war with something else, and I waited,  
silently, to see what he would do. Just when his lips were almost  
close enough to kiss mine, he drew away and sprang to his feet,  
walking away into the night, telling me gruffly that he would return  
shortly. He did so, and slipped back in silently beside me. We  
slept.  
  
It was one of such shared moments when I told him I forgave him, and  
when he asked me to take Jason's ring back. I refused, and he did not  
push me. He only put it back in a pouch that he carries on his belt  
so that I saw where he keeps it.  
  
"Bruno trusts Rumil," he said, and told me that soon enough I would  
remember that I did as well.  
  
Just when I started to trust my own judgement, I replied, I foudnd  
that those around me were not what they seemed, and now I doubted my  
ability to read people again.  
  
Haldir said that was one reason I needed Rumil. He would help me  
choose the people I needed, and he would help us find our way back.  
Then he pulled out the chain with the ring on it and held it out to  
me.  
  
The only way I would ever take that ring back, I finally told him  
before we went to sleep last night, was if it came from Rumil's own  
hand.  
  
It has not reappeared since. Apparently Haldir thinks that this was  
some kind of admission on my part, and that he has made progress with  
me on Rumil's behalf. I could have told him that this is far from the  
case.  
  
*"Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening", a poem by Robert Frost:  
  
"...The woods are lovely, dark and deep.  
But I have promises to keep,  
And miles to go before I sleep,  
And miles to go before I sleep."  
  
**Oloro: I think this is the imperative of "dream," but I'm no elvish  
linguist. 


	20. Ch 20: Back To Lands You Once Did Know

Title: The Tale of Marian Chapter: 20/? Rating: R this chapter for some foul language. Pairing: OFC/Haldir Genre: Adventure/Romance/perhaps a little Angst Timeline: AU, modern times. Beta: Kara Tanner Feedback: Welcomed, begged for, appreciated. Warnings: Foul language; threatening situation. Author's Notes: This is a work in progress. Disclaimer: See Chapter 1 for disclaimer.  
  
* * * * * THE TALE OF MARIAN  
  
CHAPTER 20 – Back to Lands You Once Did Know*  
  
24 September  
  
Today we will reach the trailhead, where Haldir tells me that Rumil  
will be waiting for us.  
  
I became instantly tense when Haldir told me this, about seeing him  
today. He won't ever be Jason to me again, no matter what happens.  
  
He saw my agitation, of course, and ignored it. He, on the other  
hand, has relaxed in the past days. He no longer broods in the night  
before sleeping, for one thing. The challenges he must face remain,  
so I don't know why he has become almost lighthearted, like an unseen  
burden has been lifted. I am glad to see it. This does not mean,  
however, that he has become at all less haughty in his manner or less  
lethal in his wit. Is this the way he used to be, before the sickness  
came to the elves; before he learned to be so bitter toward Men? It  
suits him.  
  
He surprised me twice this morning.  
  
When I awoke it was already dawn, crisp, clear and damp. Haldir had  
packed and laid his things nearby, except for his bow and quiver. He  
and Bruno were nowhere to be seen. Why hadn't he awakened me? I  
thought groggily, and got up to pack, myself. When they still hadn't  
appeared, I laid out the remainder of our lembas and dried fruit,  
hoping that the neighborhood rabbits were still safe.  
  
Finally Bruno came bounding toward me through the trees, followed by a  
stranger. No, not a stranger, I thought as the man who was not a man  
drew closer. He was tall and imposing, with a long, smooth stride,  
like a well-honed athlete or dancer. He had long, silver-blond hair  
which had been pulled back into a ponytail, and striking, intimidating  
gray-blue eyes. He held his head high, his posture erect, like  
someone accustomed to wielding authority. As he walked toward me I  
could see the strength and power of his body through his clothing -  
the black muscle-tee that clung to his chest; the faded jeans that  
hugged his lean, muscular hips and thighs and skimmed over his black  
boots like he was born to wear them. Over his shoulder he casually  
carried a black leather bomber jacket. Two knife sheaths hung from  
his black leather belt, with silver hilts, like his hair, flashing in  
the sun.  
  
As he approached, he smiled at me with a twin to that mischievous  
smile that I had seen so often on Jason's face, most probably at my  
look of surprise and feminine admiration. That, and my immense relief  
that Haldir had finally changed his clothing to something more, well,  
normal. But seeing him in "normal" clothes only emphasized how  
magnificently male he was. It was no surprise to me that in his  
enthusiastic morning greeting, Bruno knocked me flat on my ass.  
  
Where are your bow and arrows? I asked as I got up and examined his  
new "look."  
  
"Hidden, until my return," he replied while I focused my attention on  
the thick, golden hair on each side of his head.  
  
Are you sure those ears will stay under there? I asked nervously.  
  
"Aye, Nana**," he teased me, his eyes dancing. Then he placed his  
hands confidently on my shoulders and said, "Do not fear for me. I  
have done this many times."  
  
I could only nod. I wouldn't be comfortable with his appearance until  
I saw how other people reacted to him.  
  
I didn't have long to wait.  
  
We had hiked only a mile or so when the trail emerged along the edge  
of a familiar clearing among the trees. The clearing was populated by  
thick, high grasses and meadow flowers, and a half-dozen or so elk.  
Resting in the sunny meadow, only their necks, heads and a few racks  
of antlers were visible above the tall grass. The rest of the herd  
would be nearby, I knew, hidden among the trees.  
  
Haldir and I skirted the meadow quietly and didn't seem to disturb the  
elk, who only eyed us, or rather me, as we passed not far away. Only  
the nearest female shifted its position warily when a curious Bruno  
started to sniff a little to close for comfort.  
  
Then a set of large antlers raised and the elk stiffened, velvety  
noses raised to test the air on the far side of the clearing where our  
path led. Haldir stopped instantly and held out a warning hand for me  
to be still.  
  
In an instant the elk leaped to their feet as one and plunged past us  
only an arm's length away, disappearing into the forest as if they had  
never been in the clearing at all.  
  
I heard them first: The raucous laughter, the cussing. Bruno growled  
low in his throat; then he began to bark. He was answered by the  
deep, challenging bark of another dog - a large one from the sound of  
it. Then I saw them; two surly-looking men in their thirties and  
their Rotweiller entering the meadow. We would have no choice but to  
pass them, and I didn't like what I saw. The men each carried a beer  
can in their hands, and it didn't appear to be their first of the  
morning.  
  
Haldir had quickly drawn his knives and disappeared moments before,  
but I knew he was only a few yards away in the trees. With luck I  
would be able to handle what might become a situation without his  
help.  
  
I snapped the leash on Bruno and walked forward along the trail  
confidently, hoping as we neared them that the men would take no  
interest in us. That was not to be. I almost made it past them,  
nodding briefly and giving them and their dog a wide berth on the  
path, when the man nearest me threw his beer can into the meadow and  
blocked my path. The other man, who had passed me, stopped on my  
other side. I stopped and turned, putting my back toward the trees  
and Bruno in front of me. Bruno bared his huge canine teeth and  
growled, straining at his leash and giving a satisfyingly impressive  
display. The Rotweiller did the same but circled us, free of any  
restraint. I would have growled too if I had known how. There wasn't  
much that tried my patience more than purposefully trashing the woods,  
and drunken foul-mouthed jackasses, in that order.  
  
Well, look what we have here, the first man said in a slightly slurred  
voice, standing just outside the reach of Bruno's teeth.  
  
Why don't we let Caesar here have a go at your furry mutt, darlin',  
and see what happens? Care to make a bet, John? he shouted, although  
his friend was only a few feet away.  
  
Or maybe, "John" suggested, and grabbed the snarling Rotweiller by the  
collar with a repulsive giggle, we should have a go at you first,  
darlin'. Flip a coin, he said to his friend, and let's see who gets  
to go first.  
  
How about if you just keep moving, and I won't let go of this leash?  
I said to these jerks as reasonably as possible as I tried to use  
Bruno to inch my way down the trail and keep both of them in front of  
me. I could barely hold Bruno back anyway as he strained heavily on  
the leash with all of his 120 pounds, barking wildly and snapping at  
the Rotweiller. I inched a little further down the trail, trying to  
maneuver the first man around me with Bruno and not lose sight of  
"John", who was beginning to circle behind me.  
  
"John" still had hold of his dog's collar, but I could see he was  
about to let him go. If he did, I would have to let Bruno go as well.  
I knew Bruno's powerful jaws could make mincemeat of the Rotweiller,  
but as ferocious and loyal as he was, he still couldn't take three on  
at once. The men were drunk, but not drunk enough for me to have an  
advantage. How could I end this without Haldir having to reveal  
himself?  
  
How about let's have some fun first, "John" said with a lecherous look  
that made my skin crawl, and released his dog. The frenzied Rotweiler  
sprang forward to attack Bruno, and then a strange thing happened. It  
stopped.  
  
I heard soft words - elvish words - and Haldir stepped firmly in front  
of me, still speaking to the man's dog. He had resheathed his knives,  
apparently not considering these two much of a threat. The Rotweiller  
sat down and began wagging its tail.  
  
"Let the lady pass," Haldir said to the two men in a casual tone that  
conveyed a world full of unspoken insults.  
  
What the HELL??? the first man exclaimed, staring from his dog to  
Haldir in anger and confusion. I stood looking from one man to the  
other, terrified that they would see there was definitely something  
different about my rescuer.  
  
Well, will you look at this? Looks like a French fag to me. You get  
the hell away from my dog pretty boy, and mind your own business, the  
man spluttered, sticking his chest out in a show of bravado that was  
ruined by the worried look he shot his companion. Apparently another  
man, especially such an imposing and confident one, had not been part  
of their impromptu plans.  
  
"Let the LADY pass," Haldir repeated in a bored but dangerous voice,  
"and I may spare you both a great deal of injury."  
  
In the meantime I noticed something interesting only a few feet away,  
and began to back toward the nearest tree.  
  
"John" foolishly thought he saw his opportunity and lunged at Haldir  
from the side.  
  
Quicker than I could follow his movements, Haldir's hands were around  
"John's" throat. "John" was now on his back in the grass not rally  
knowing how he got there, sporting a spreading pool of wetness seeping  
through the front of his jeans.  
  
I saw that Haldir could have easily rendered the other man helpless as  
well, but he didn't have to. Without the Rotweiller to deal with,  
Bruno and I had him firmly in hand. Bruno had his bared teeth inches  
from his crotch, and I had a branch of the poison oak that I had  
lunged for inches from his face.  
  
Don't move, I warned him, which considering Bruno's current position I  
hardly needed to say.  
  
You crazy bitch!!! he yelled, and Bruno and the poison oak inched  
closer.  
  
Come on John, he called, glancing from his helpless friend and back to  
me, let's just forget it and get the fuck out of here.  
  
Yeah, no shit, John said shakily as Haldir allowed him to scramble  
away and get back on his feet. We don't want no trouble, we were just  
joking around, for Christ's sake. We weren't going to hurt her or  
nothing.  
  
"Be gone, while you still have your skins," the Elf Lord said in  
disgust.  
  
Haldir feinted at John's buddy, who had frozen in indecision between  
his words and Bruno's jaws, and now scrambled around us to back down  
the trail with his friend.  
  
You're both fuckin' crazy! "John" yelled, his bravado increasing with  
distance.  
  
Hell,she's just a dried up old broad anyway, "John's" friend called  
back toward us.  
  
Yeah honey, have fun with your pretty friend - he's not gonna give you  
any of the good stuff you'd a gotten from us, babe!  
  
Haldir lunged toward the two with knives flashing, and they took off  
running like the cowards they were, their dog trotting happily behind.  
  
I exhaled in relief that they were gone at last and that they had not  
seemed to notice how unique my companion really was. Haldir sheathed  
his knives with a fluid motion and stopped in front of me with concern  
written on his features.  
  
You were amazing, I said to him. Thank you.  
  
And so were you, you big bear, I said and hugged Bruno, not caring  
that he was probably slobbering in my hair.  
  
"You are not offended by their words?" he asked me. "I would be  
greatly pleased to kill them for you."  
  
Maturity has its rewards, my Lord, I joked, and the corner of his  
mouth twitched. They were just a couple of assholes. I'm only  
embarrassed that I'm the same species they are.  
  
"You are not responsible for their behavior, Marian," he said.  
  
You wouldn't really kill them, would you? I stated then, waving my  
hand in the direction the two men had disappeared in.  
  
He just smiled a very cold smile.  
  
"You must wash quickly," he said, pulling his water skin from his  
shoulder and pointing at the branch that I still held in my hand.  
  
Oh, I said and threw it aside. No wonder he had been giving me plenty  
of room. I had forgotten that I still held it.  
  
I don't get poison oak, I explained.  
  
"Well I do," he replied and held the container out at arm's length to  
pour for me.  
  
Ok, I said, I guess I'd better not tempt fate. That was funny, I  
thought. Fate - the thing that I finally believed had brought me  
here. I grinned at Haldir.  
  
"The Valar will be glad to hear that," he replied, trying to suppress  
a smile. Then the Elf Lord laughed; a robust, hearty, musical laugh  
that rang through the meadow like chimes in the breeze.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Later in the day I began to smell the ocean, and see hazy blue-gray  
beyond the tree line. When we stopped, I could hear the pounding of  
the waves - a low vibration like someone far, far away was beating on  
a giant drum. Haldir increased his pace, and I knew that he sensed it  
too. Was he thinking of Valinor? Was the Sea calling to him? How  
could it not be? It was calling me, too.  
  
As we were preparing to go the last few miles to the trailhead, we  
stopped and he tried once more to plead Rumil's case with me.  
  
"It is not a lie to be one thing and seem to be another," he said.  
  
Yes it is, I argued back.  
  
Then he ran a finger along the part in my hair.  
  
"What is this?" he asked, pretending innocence. If the subject had  
not been so serious, I might have thought he was teasing me.  
  
It's my real color, gray hairs and all. You caught me. I surrender -  
it's been more than a month, I replied, knowing where this was headed.  
  
"Is this not also a lie?" he asked, tilting his head and widening his  
eyes in mock surprise.  
  
It's different! I said, completely exasperated. I couldn't believe he  
was comparing anything this trivial with what Rumil had done.  
  
"Why?" he challenged me quite seriously.  
  
Because, I explained in irritation, it's socially acceptable.  
Everybody does it. It's unusual for people NOT to do it.  
  
"It is the same to be an elf but appear to be a mortal," he declared.  
  
That is ridiculous! I said, stupefied that he would even suggest such  
a comparison. This is not just about appearances. Everybody doesn't  
pretend to be someone's friend when their only interest is in  
manipulation.  
  
His lordship just eyed me cockily and strode on down the hill.  
  
Can you believe him? I asked Bruno, who just barked at me and trotted  
after him. Suck-up, I called after him.  
  
I adjusted the straps on my backpack and prepared to get this happy  
reunion over with as quickly as possible.  
  
September 24 - Jason.  
  
At last I caught a glimpse of my brother and Marian coming down the hill through the trees. It was about time, I thought with relief, and I pushed myself off from leaning against the side of Haldir's car to greet them. It had been over a month and I had terribly missed teasing Marian. I hadn't seen Haldir in many months longer, and I was elated to see him hearty and hale. Still, I was somewhat nervous – I wondered if Haldir had told her about me yet.  
  
My brother demanded his equipment to be clean. As I waited for them to get down the hill, I took my sleeve and swept away the pine and redwood needles where they had floated down onto the glossy waxed surface of the convertible. There wasn't much I could do now about the ones that had worked their way under the seats; I had been leaning against the car, waiting since before dawn, like a chauffeur. Still, a sports car was easier to take care of than a horse. And it had the advantage of drawing the interest of attractive women. We made a good team, this car and I.  
  
The sight of Marian, Bruno and my brother coming around the last bend of the trail to the parking lot was not at all what I had expected. True, I had known with certainty that Haldir would appreciate Marian – we tended to have similar tastes in elleths – and knowing how dear she was to me, I had happily anticipated that Haldir would become fond of her as well. I had warned myself that there might be some small danger, but what could I do? Marian was the right one and I had known it immediately.  
  
Bruno bounded on ahead of them, barking and wagging his tail, and jumping on me in excitement. At least someone seemed happy to see me.  
  
As soon as I saw them round the last tree, Marian tramping tiredly and Haldir lightly stepping from the soft needles onto the gravel of the parking lot, both studiously ignoring each other, I knew, and I was torn between joy and sadness.  
  
Let me explain something that I could tell Marian had not been enlightened about yet. For an elf to give his heart to another was one of the greatest gifts of the Valar; for an elf to lose his heart to a mortal was a death sentence. In binding himself to a mortal, the elf's fate would be bound with that of the Second Children, and he would die as they did. Why things had to happen this way was a mystery; why it hadn't once happened the other way around perhaps even the Valar did not know.  
  
I did not fear for my brother; Haldir's sense of responsibility went far beyond his personal desires and needs – often too far, in my opinion. And Haldir's path was as clear to me as it was to him – he would lead us safely to the ships and from there to blessed Valinor, or perish in the attempt. He would not allow himself to stray from his duty and his honor, no matter what the cost. And I could see, with no small measure of guilt, the cost was going to be great.  
  
He would not, and had not bound himself to her, that much was obvious – any elf could see immediately if another had a life partner – a convenience that, as you might imagine, saved us from many of the pitfalls that mortals succumb to with disastrous regularity.  
  
Perhaps only a brother, highly attuned as I was to the finer points of Haldir's demeanor in spite of what Marian would doubtless label his "poker face", would have seen and correctly interpreted the attraction. To my senses it hummed around them like an electric current. It would have to Orophin, too. No, I concluded as they reached me and I looked from one to the other of the two people most dear to me still on Arda, it was so strong that Vanimë might have picked up on it as well. She was like a mother hen where Haldir was concerned, and I winced inwardly at the cold, even vengeful treatment Marian would have received if Vanimë had recognized the threat. To be sure, I wouldn't wish our cousin's wrath on many, especially not Marian.  
  
Haldir and I immediately clasped each other in a heartfelt embrace, while Marian held back from both of us. Though I noticed her expression turn somewhat softer at our brotherly reunion, still the smoke from the smithies of Aulë might have been coming from her ears. In fact, both of them looked like they were about to explode, I thought as I turned from my dear brother and held my arms out to her. She immediately stepped forward and raised her hand as if to slap me across the face, but changed her mind and walked away, refusing to meet my gaze.  
  
I was stunned. In all of my years of deep friendship with Marian, she had never so much as raised a finger to anyone. Sure, she would let off steam when she needed to. On the rare occasion that she gave in to real anger, she could hardly hold onto it for more than a few minutes. Even the muttered or not so muttered curses she sometimes received at construction sites didn't affect her – she knew as many expletives in Spanish and Southeast Asian as she did in English by now, but she had more class than to acknowledge them or throw them back. They were just the background noises of the jobsite and she recognized them for the harmless frustrations that they were. After the men saw that such prods didn't get a reaction, they usually laid off anyway.  
  
How would you feel, she would say to me, if you were sweating over some damned piece of equipment in the hot sun, and some woman with a pressed suit and a clipboard told your boss to rip out what you had just done the best you could at and do it over again, and do it right this time? How she hated to do that to people, even when she knew she had to.  
  
No, I hadn't expected her to want to slap me, and it hurt, even more than if she had actually done it. It also wounded my pride, just a little, to see Haldir looking at her with patient concern: Not at the truly injured party, but at her. Just maybe, I thought as I brought my gaping mouth back where it belonged and endured the humiliation like the gallant ellon that I was, Haldir had already told her about me after all. Bruno shifted uncomfortably and whined at me in sympathy.  
  
Haldir took me aside and held out our mother's ring for me to take. He could not convince her to take it back, he told me in a low voice that did not carry. I must make things right again. She was deeply hurt; she was maddeningly stubborn.  
  
You have no idea, I told him dryly in return.  
  
You like her, I said meaningfully, lowering my voice and glancing at Marian, who was unlocking her car.  
  
My brother gave me his best "none of your business" look. This was neither the time nor the place for such a discussion, he admonished me.  
  
True enough, I told him, thinking that he was only slightly more stubborn than Marian, but we WOULD talk when Marian and I returned.  
  
After a short staring contest, he finally nodded acceptance. We both know when I'm right about him needing to talk, but Haldir will rarely admit it. That he did now was significant. I usually have to trick him, something I've become rather adept at though I must change my tactics constantly. Haldir is a formidable opponent when it comes to his private side. That I can usually jump one step ahead of him when he needs me to is something I am secretly quite proud of.  
  
Then without so much as an "are you ok, Rumil?" Haldir helped Marian unload her backpack and part of his burden into her trunk, threw the rest of his things into his own car, and vaulted over the driver's door into his seat. He picked at the interior and flicked redwood needles out of the car with an accusatory look in my direction. Marian came over next to his door, making a point of keeping as far away from me as she could. She stared long into my brother's eyes and seemed to find it difficult to speak.  
  
I will pray that you find what you are looking for, she said at last. Be safe.  
  
"I will be there when you and Rumil return," he assured us. "May Earendil above guide you both."  
  
Then almost as an afterthought he added to Marian, "Be sure to take care on your journey, your automobiles are dangerous."  
  
She looked at him hopefully.  
  
"We have not the luxury of time to find another and begin again," he clarified. "Do you understand?"  
  
I understand perfectly, Marian said. Inexplicably, she grinned at his response while I silently berated my brother for his total coldness and absence of tact. Marian obviously did not know of my brothers feelings for her, and he was doing his best to make sure she did not. He was, I thought, making this more difficult on her than he needed to.  
  
Haldir graced me with a stern look that told better than words the lengths I was to go to protect her – as if I wouldn't have anyway. We watched him in silence, Marian standing as far away from me as possible, as he peeled out of the parking lot, spewing gravel in his wake.  
  
Marian stood frozen in place with her mouth open while he disappeared from view. Bruno looked at the empty road and whined.  
  
I could always read Marian like an open book. Where, her startled expression said, was my brother going to manage to blend into her world, in a black leather jacket and aviator's glasses over pale glowing skin, long silver-blond hair floating behind him, speeding along like a demon in a vintage cherry-red Corvette convertible?  
  
San Francisco, I offered to her in explanation.  
  
She closed her mouth. I could see that she was relieved, a bit.  
  
Then she reluctantly turned away and opened the rear door of her dusty Civic, ordering Bruno inside. To my surprise, he complied immediately, sitting forward and panting at me to notice his excellent behavior. Things had indeed changed since she'd been gone. Marian slammed the door and stomped around to the other side of the car, got in and started the engine. I sprinted over to the front passenger door and found it locked. Marian threw the car into reverse and backed up as I knocked on the side of the car. Marian shifted into drive, ignoring me completely. With my usual grace under pressure, I jumped through the open window of the back seat and landed on top of Bruno just as she, too, peeled out of the parking lot. I thought with injured feelings that she might have left me – she really might have.  
  
This was, I predicted accurately, going to be a very unpleasant day.  
  
*From "Down the Swift Dark Stream You Go," barrel song from Chapter 9 of The Hobbit, byJ.R.R. Tolkien. **Aye, Nana: "Yes, Mother." 


	21. Ch 21: A Spirit Beautiful and Bright

Title: The Tale of Marian Chapter: 21/? Rating: PG-13 this chapter. Pairing: OFC/Haldir Genre: Adventure/Romance/perhaps a little Angst Timeline: AU, modern times. Beta: None this chapter. The wonderful Kara Tanner is busy as a bee this month! Feedback: Welcomed, begged for, appreciated. Warnings: None. Author's Notes: See Chapter 1 for disclaimer. This is a work in progress.  
  
THE TALE OF MARIAN  
  
CHAPTER 21 –   
  
That day was pure Morgoth. Have you ever ridden nine hours - NINE HOURS - in a car with someone who wouldn't speak to you?  
  
Not one word.  
  
Not one single word the entire way home, with only a dog for company. A big dog thatthatwho took, might I add, more than his share of the back seat and my lap the whole way back. .  
  
I was lucky that Marian had to stop for food or the restroom once in a while, although I think the cheeseburger and fries made her sick. It was too bad, really, after she hummed "Cheeseburger in Paradise" and "'cause you're my cheeseburger, my yummy cheeseburger, I'll wait for you-oo, yes..." under her breath for an hour before we reached a town that had a burger stand. Each time we stopped I ran, mind you, to beat her back to the car: Just in case. Our fight, or aggravating lack of one, might have been funny if I hadn't seen how badly I had hurt her, for her to act this way toward me. Still, I didn't think I deserved THIS kind of abuse.  
  
I could see that some of her displeasure wasn't directed at me. She looked like a tourist who was disgusted with this new, strange place that she had landed in, like it wasn't at all the vacation paradise the brochures had advertised. at all. Indeed, the ways of the race of Men are quite different from those of the Elves. I find your race fascinating and imaginative in many ways; thoughtless and tragic in others. My brother Haldir, the serious one, grewhadgrew grown somewhat bitter and weary toward you over time, and saw your ways as just plain wrong: So much energy, so much creativity and drive - so often focused in the wrong direction. You were; so much more like Morgoth than like any of the other Valar, according to him and many of the others who hadhave remained. I worried about him... True, you mortals are a mystery to us, and your ways are strange, but I was more hopeful about your future than Haldir was. Marian stared at the traffic, the parking lots, the overflowing garbage cans as though she had never seen them before. The noise seemed particularly to bother her. Perhaps Marian was seeing the Second Children clearly for the first time; seeing what she and you could be. You could be so much more, if only you could recognize your unique potential. If only you could see that everything would be so much better if you lived WITH Arda instead of just ON it. Arda could be a veritable Eden for olvar and kelvar alike. That is what I held out hope for - that Marian could help you see.  
  
But first I had to win her back. Even with all of the people I had known who had come and gone through the ages, even knowing her time on this earth to be very, very short, still Marian's friendship was priceless to me. Charming as I was, it wasn't going to be easy, but I knew I could bring her around. And I would have to do it soon, if she was to accept the help from me that she would need.  
  
I wished Orophin was here to talk to.  
  
25 September  
  
I dropped Jason off at his apartment and came straight home. When he  
got out of the car he told me he would see me at work tomorrow. Ed  
was anxious to have me back. All I could do was nod - I couldn't even  
look at him, all the way back. He made overtures in my direction a  
few times, but after that he was silent, giving me the space I  
desperately needed. Think of that - Jason, not talking.  
  
Why can't I call him Rumil? Why can't I speak to him? The moment I  
set eyes on him - handsome, blond, sweet Jason standing there by that  
pretty red Corvette - I froze. Then he embraced his brother, a mutual  
gesture of such pure joy on both of their parts that my anger at him  
melted away, and only the hurt remained. When he turned to me, the  
hurt was enough.  
  
The family resemblance was obvious. Haldir and Rumil, like opposite  
sides of the same, beautifully crafted coin - one noble and serious,  
the other noble and carefree.[funloving]. I wondered what their  
brother, Orophin, was like. Not that I would ever see him.  
  
I could see what defined the elf in him then - all of those things  
that had made Jason so unique: his pale beauty, his grace, his quick  
wit, his wisdom and caring disguised as narcissism and sugar-coated  
with platitudes and clever teasing - but I still couldn't tell he was  
anything other than just Jason. His demeanor still defied his true  
nature, his appearance still deceiveddeceivedtricked my eyes.  
  
I don'tdon'tdon't know what to say to him. I feel like such a fool.  
  
I was relieved when Marian showed up for work the next morning. I knew she was wondering what the point was - she had already left this life behind. She had much more important things to do.  
  
Single-minded as she was, if left to her own devices she might have changed course immediately with a tailwind at her back, leaving a wake of family, friends and associates, her sails unfurled for all the world to see. Only in hindsight would she have realized how obvious the change in her would have been. The surprise would have led to questions, then to scrutiny, which would have led to disaster.  
  
She was altogether too willing to see the good in people and dismiss the bad. It wasn't naiveté, it was the way she looked at life, and I loved her for it. That's why she needed me: to keep her on course.  
  
And that's why, when I saw her head straight for the door to Ed's office I was there first to clear her path and shut the door behind her. Ed looked up from the overflowing piles of paperwork on his desk and gave me his mind- your-own-business look. I happened to be inside, not outside, the door. I get that look from him a lot. As usual I ignored it and sat down next to Marian, who was studiously ignoring me. I ignored that too, which as you might expect was not a particularly effective response.  
  
Ed glared at me a little longer. I gave him my most ingratiating smile. Then, since Marian wasn't complaining (at least out loud), he shook his head at me in exasperation and turned his attention to her. I get that a lot from him, too.  
  
"You realize that your nosey friend here saved your butt, don't you?"  
  
She looked at our boss in surprise. Clearly she had come in to the office expecting either to quit or be fired, not to discover that she still had a job. She knew as well as anyone that no busy architectural office on the face of Arda could afford to lose an architect on a major project or float an unoccupied desk for a month. No one, no matter how talented, was that indispensable.  
  
"That's right Marian," Ed continued bluntly. "Jason took your clients and your projects as well as his own. He hasn't worked less than twelve hours a day six days a week since you left. He's tired and he's an even bigger pain in the ass than usual. Some kind of midlife crisis, he says, though I'm sure he's lying through his teeth. But I don't care what it was as long as your work gets done and as long as it's over now. Tell me it's over."  
  
"It's over," she lied, looking at me briefly for the first time and seeing me shoot her a warning look.  
  
"It had better be. You owe him big time. And you owe me, too. Now get out of here and get back to work."  
  
"Out!" he said when neither of us moved. We got out. Then Marian turned around and went back into his office and kissed him on the cheek. Ed turned beet red and shooshed her out again, shaking his head and slamming the door behind him.  
  
I followed Marian back to her cubicle, where she said the first words to me that she had uttered since I met her at the trailhead.  
  
"Get away from me, Jason."  
  
"We need to talk, my dear," I replied to her in a low voice.  
  
"I am not your. . . " Marian began.  
  
"Marian, you're back!" Billie squealed as she came around the corner. "I knew you wouldn't desert us, not like SOME people thought," she said pointedly at the head of one of the job captains, Tom, appeared over the partition.  
  
"Just hoping for a promotion. Welcome back, Marian," To grinned and his head disappeared again.  
  
"Winesmith after work to fill us in on your vacation?" Billie offered.  
  
"Great idea," I cut in before Marian could refuse. "I'll kidnap her and deliver her myself."  
  
"Good. 6:00 then. Everyone's dying of envy. A whole month! We need to know your secret," Billie said in a mysterious voice, and disappeared back around the corner.  
  
"Oh God," Marian cussed faintly, sitting down on her stool. I winced at the expression - Marian had never been able to get out of the habit. But now was not the time to remind her.  
  
I grabbed a set of drawings off of my desk and told her to come into the back conference room. I'd bring her up to date on the changes that the library client had asked me to make while she'd been gone. I made sure I was loud enough to be overheard, and shoved a notepad into her hand. Nodding resignedly, she grabbed a pen and followed me across the office, sliding the ceiling-high glass doors of the conference room closed behind us.  
  
"What do you think you are doing?" she demanded as I spread the drawings out on the expansive table and sat down facing the door.  
  
"Come sit down next to me and look at this floor plan and I'll tell you," I said, glancing meaningfully out through the etched glass to the hallway and the busy workstations beyond. "Stop panicking."  
  
"I am not panicking," she protested, sitting down with me at last. "You know I don't have time to work 10 hours a day and accomplish what I really need to do: What all of YOU need me to do."  
  
She flipped the drawings to the upper floor plan and waited, her attention caught momentarily by something different in the vicinity of the Children's Reading Area that I was quite proud of, her posture stiff.  
  
"I have to do it right. . . Rumil," she accused me quietly.  
  
Ah! A chink in the armor at last. A small peace offering. I relaxed a little, realizing how extremely tense I had been since she had returned. I gazed at her face while she turned over another sheet and evaluated what I had done with a practiced eye. Then I understood - she wasn't angry at me. She was embarrassed. She had been close to me for so long and I had fooled her. She had come to trust me as a dear friend in a time of need, and she was afraid I had played a long, cruel joke on her. How could I make her understand that I'd had no choice, that she had not been used? How could I make it up to her?  
  
"I think it would be best if you continued to call me Jason, if that's all right with you," I told her miserably.  
  
"Ok."  
  
She turned over another sheet, to the exterior elevations.  
  
"It's vital that everything appears to be normal. You needed to have more time to yourself, to decide if your life was going in the direction you wanted it to. You decided to come back. Everything's fine. Come to the Winesmith with me tonight. Take a day to settle back in. Tomorrow night we'll work late, use the resources here. You know how much faster these computers are than either of ours at home. And you can tell me what you need to do." I waited for her response, hoping I wasn't leading her too much.  
  
She rolled up the drawings and stood to go. I could see her movements were still tense, her brows knit. She ran her fingers through her hair, staring at the table. She straightened her back. I could almost see her gathering her professional persona around her like a shield.  
  
"The work you and Kathy did on the drawings - it looks good. Thank you for taking care of her while I was gone."  
  
"My pleasure," I said as she slid the conference room doors open.  
  
It was only after she had walked briskly out of the room and into the organized chaos beyond that I realized she hadn't answered me; that not once since the briefest of moments in Ed's office had she looked me in the eye.  
  
26 September  
  
I am home. This day seemed like it would never end, though every tick  
of the office clock reminded me of the precious wasted time slipping  
by. The hour spent at the wine bar with Billie and Jason and other  
people from the office that I counted as friends seemed even longer,  
since I spent most of that time lying to them. I felt rotten about  
it, but I knew that Jason was right - nothing could jeopardize the  
elves' secret, now my secret as well. I wondered if this was how he  
felt every day, or if the games he played had simply become habit.  
Their home, their existence could only be revealed when the time was  
right; only when I knew it was ready - and only on my own terms. I  
followed Jason's example: I pretended that nothing had changed - when  
everything had changed. I had changed. No - I have only finally  
become who I truly am.  
  
Home. I unlocked the door tonight and stood next to Bruno in my house  
that was three times bigger than my talan in Methentaurond, and many  
times emptier. Bruno was unsure of himself because I had never  
allowed him inside before. I told him he was welcome now, as long as  
he didn't mess the carpet. He gave me a blank stare and fidgeted.  
Maybe he only understood elvish. "Mae govannen," I said  
experimentally. Getting no immediate response, I decided to go back  
outside and bring in the rest of my gear from the car. I was too  
tired to do it last night.  
  
I hope tonight will be easier than last night. Last night was hard.  
I spent an entire week with Haldir, days and nights; I had shared  
intimate memories and a physical closeness that I treasured every  
moment of. I had slept each night with his arms around me. Then he  
left, and my heart went with him. My own bed is no comfort to me -  
this is still my house, for now, but my home and my heart lay  
elsewhere. I lay awake for hours last night missing him, wondering  
where he was and whether or not he was safe; whether he missed me at  
all. The months before I will see him again stretch out before me  
like an eternity.  
  
I saw that my garden and house plants had been watered. My furniture  
had been shined, not a speck of dust anywhere. Jason must have done  
it just before he left to pick me up; dust began settling back on  
surfaces here as soon as you wiped them off and turned your back.  
Just as likely, though, he had talked one of his many girlfriends into  
it. That made me shudder - what stranger was walking around town now,  
gossiping about Marian's house? Or maybe, being an elf, he had just  
twitched his nose and the house had dusted itself. That was silly, I  
told myself. Get a grip.  
  
I opened my refrigerator with dread, anticipating sour milk and moldy  
bread. Instead, it was as clean as could be, with a bowl of fruit and  
a myriad of other new items sitting invitingly in the middle. Was  
there anything Jason had not thought of? How perfect could one man  
be? It was plain that I would either have to marry him or kill him.  
At the moment my inclinations ran to the latter. I would have to  
remember to make him give me back my key.  
  
Then I saw that even my bills had been paid, laid out in a fan like a  
short deck of Tahoe playing cards on a blackjack table. Jason's sense  
of humor, something you could count on, like the sun rising every day.  
Feeling a stab of guilt, I shook off thoughts of our silent ride back  
and returned to the car.  
  
Though the sun was close to setting the air rising from my gravel  
driveway was still shimmering, the Sierra Nevada foothills a tired,  
uncomfortable contrast to the spellbinding ocean and the cool, lush,  
nearly seasonless forests I had just come from.  
  
A hot breeze floated down the parched canyon, tickling my face and  
rustling the yellw-brown leaves of the oaks and the withering  
grapevines. It murmured lazily through the lodgepole pines scattered  
along the hillside. The pines were supposed to have taproots as long  
as they were tall. Roots ran deep here - they had to. So did love,  
and friendship. At least that was what I had believed. Had Jason  
taken care of my things out of friendship, or something else - a way  
to soften me before the confrontation that we both knew was coming,  
perhaps? I tried not to think of this, concentrating instead on the  
thick layer of orange clay dust on the manzanitas. The clinging dust  
attested to the long, dry summer; the threat of fire now at its worst;  
the promise of fall rains still weeks away.  
  
I brought in my sleeping bag and backpack, setting my things out in my  
bedroom like I was in a hotel room. This was appropriate, I thought.  
I probably wouldn't be spending that much more time here.  
  
Grateful for the evening breeze, I made a final trip out to the car to  
get the other neatly folded bundle that Haldir had placed in the car.  
I raised the trunk lid and carefully lifted it out. It was one of  
Haldir's cloaks. I dismissed the brief thought that he might have  
left it by accident as soon as it entered my mind - the Lord of  
Methentaurond never did anything by accident. Laying it down on the  
shaded deck I folded back the top layer of soft elvish fabric.  
Nestled in the middle in a bed of fern leaves was a bright red mound  
of huckleberries.  
  
The house is still hot, and I can't abide the air conditioner running  
at night. I have settled into a lounge chair on the deck, munching  
huckleberries, at once both sweet and slightly bitter. I am watching  
the Milky Way appear above the tops of the pines in the darkening sky,  
picking out satellites as they arc overhead. Unlike those that must  
hide their presence from a land they were once caretakers of, I am  
free to see the satellites, and for them to see me. The air has  
cooled and I have wrapped Haldir's cloak around me. I am growing  
drowsy with its soft warmth and the precious scent of him that ilngers  
in its folds. I will sleep outside tonight, and think of him. Like  
Scarlett O'Hara, I will think about Jason and the rest of the world  
tomorrow.  
  
The next day Marian and I stayed in the office, waiting for the last evening stragglers to leave the building. My efforts to engage her in conversation were rebuffed, but gently, and she stole a glance at me now and then. She was warming back up to me, I could tell. I am irresistible, after all.  
  
Finally the office was empty, the hum of electronics more prominent without voices to overshadow it, the phones reduced to an occasional night ring that the answering machines automatically picked up. Oh you mortals and your indispensable gadgets! I have learned to use and even enjoy them, but I am not a slave to them as you have chosen to be. Elves have other ways, ways that you would call magic because you do not understand and we cannot teach you. Which ways are better? Perhaps the Valar know, but I do not. I will not judge you for your inventiveness and its unanticipated consequences as others might, remembering that Morgoth, too, was enamored of machines. Now it is those who wield "magic" that you suspect of a lust for power and evil, not those who wield the machines.  
  
Marian broke my reverie by wheeling her chair nearer to mine, actually looking at me, and holding a piece of paper temptingly in front of her. It was just beyond my long reach, which she anticipated with experienced accuracy.  
  
"You want to know what my plans are. They are on this paper, plain and simple. You say you want to help me," she said in a hard voice. "I will admit to you that I need it. But first, you will tell me everything. I am sick of being fed bits and pieces of something I have only begun to understand. I am weary of shocks and surprises, and I can't take it anymore." Then her voice became less hard, taking on a tone that spoke to me of the hurt I had caused. "If you really are my friend, then tell me and start at the beginning.  
  
That was my Marian: Get straight to the point and no wasting small talk. Glancing behnd her, I was encouraged to see that she had not removed the redwood screensaver from her computer.  
  
Yes, I owed it to her to tell her everything. But I couldn't start at the beginning, exactly. The beginning is usually not where we think it is. Only the Valar knew when the Song of the Ainur began, and what came before. I chose to start in Lothlorien.  
  
I told her of the Lady Galadriel's journey into the West. She nodded when I told her that Haldir and I had escorted her, Lord Elrond, Orophin and his bond-mate, and many others to the ships of the Havens to depart with Bilbo and Frodo the halflings. We had accompanied them to honor them and to say our farewells until at a time of our own choosing we should follow.  
  
There before the gray ships, with the call of the gulls on the westerly wind, our Lady turned a last fair and shining gaze on me and Haldir, and gifted us with these words:  
  
"Do not be dismayed that you do not join your brother, for your love of Arda is yet great, and must be heeded. You remain for some purpose that has not been revealed to me. You must discover it in your own way, and in your own time. You will know in your hearts when you are ready to come once more to the Sea. We shall await you.  
  
And this also I will offer you, for it may comfort you on your journeys still in this land," she continued, and searched our very souls with the depths of her wise, shining eyes:  
  
"Haldir, mellon nin, faithful guardian," she began, and then by her long silence and by the single tear that traced my brother's cheek I knew she was speaking only for him.  
  
"Rumil, Pen-muin, joy of the Golden Wood, she said, and showed me a face in my mind, a vision from the mirror in her garden.  
  
"It was your face, Marian," I told her, and she looked at me in wonder. "In my mind, this is what she said to me:  
  
"Arda will come to a time of great need. You will know when this occurs, for it will be a time of great sadness, even illness, among you. You will smell it in the air; you will feel it in the water and in the land. But do not despair; for there is always hope.  
  
She will be of the Dunedain, though she will know it not. She will dwell in a city of gold, near this sundering ocean, near the lost shore upon which we now stand. Arda will need her; your brother will need her. Help him find her."  
  
Then she turned again to Haldir, and with Lord Elrond charged him with our safe return to the West. We did not understand her meaning for a long time after, for Celeborn was Lord of Lothlorien still, and we vowed to remain in his service.  
  
She began to board the ship, but paused and turned to me with one of her enigmatic smiles. Do you know what I heard her say to me?"  
  
I got a look from Marian that said plainly "of course not, you idiot."  
  
"She said, 'You will like her, Rumil'"  
  
I could see that she was still putting things together, still not convinced of my sincerity or that she would be spoken of so long ago. I could see that she was nervous about it all.  
  
"Lindir said that Galadriel left ages ago," Marian said. "What happened after that? How did you know that I would be here?"  
  
"We returned to Celeborn, and our home. For a time we joined with King Aragorn, ridding Middle Earth as best we could of the evils that lingered in the dark corners of the land. Lindir has doubtless told you of the deeds that we, most notably Haldir, did in those times. Travel became safe again. It was a time of peace and prosperity, earned with countless lives. But our Lord grew dismayed, it seemed, in Lothlorien without his Lady. When he departed for the HOuse of Elrond he freed us from his service, for he saw that many of us could not bear ot leave the forests that had borne us. He charged Haldir with lordshpi of Lothlorien, and we remained in the mellyrn that we loved. While Aragorn and his sons yet lived, our home was a sacred place, and Men did not venture there except in need. Yet time passed. Without the Ring of Adamant the forests began to die, the land to change. We retreated at last to the hidden vales of Imladris and rejoined Celeborn once more.  
  
Then one spring day the grandsons of Aragorn came to the Ford of Bruinen, bearing gifts and requesting audience with Lord Celeborn. They were welcomed gladly in Imladris. Celeborn and Haldir took counsel with them for many days and nights, there in the circle on the terrace of Lord Elrond's Chambers. We did not know it then, but Celeborn had at last felt the Call of the Sea.  
  
In the end, I was charged with the keeping of Imladris until Haldir returned. He went with our Lord, as did hte grandsons of Aragorn, to bid him farewell in fair Lindon.  
  
When Haldir returned, he brought news that Cirdan the shipwright and his people had departed into the West as well. The last of the Great Ones, the Eldar who had journeyed to Arda from the West and had seen the Valar with their own eyes, had returned home at long last. We were alone."  
  
"But Jason," Marian protested quietly, "you were not really alone."  
  
"No, we were not. Thought the exodus of Cirdan dismayed us, the Valar still gave us hope; my brother gave our people strength. We remembered the words of the Lady of Light and were comforted. And for a time the world of Men left us in peace.  
  
Men multiplied and thrived, expanding ever more from the east and the south. We retreated ever north and west. The line of Aragorn was dispersed and lost. Kingdoms and continents alike broke apart, changed, and merged again. Much that we had known was lost. Those of us that remained were feared and then forgotten. We became first legend, then little more than myth. They were gray times, Marian, and their stories are long and full of small joys among deep sorrow. I will not burden you with them. We retreated to the deep forests, the caves, and the starlight. Some we lost along the way, as they chose their own paths in the shrinking wilderness.  
  
Finally we found in the deep, lost forests of Tar-Caranorn a haven. The trees remembered and welcomed us. We claimed the forests and the caves we discovered there as our home. WE vowed to instill in our new home some of the forgotten glory of our distant past. So in the likeness of Lothlorien and of fair Nargothrond of the first age we built what you saw before you - Methentaurond. It is our greatest joy and my brother's crowning achievement, that we have made such a home for our kin once more. We would gladly give our lives to protect it."  
  
"It is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen," Marian said. "How will you bear to leave it?"  
  
"It wil be difficult, for Haldir most of all. He loves Arda deeply. There are many things that he will grieve to leave behind." Not the least of which, I thought to myself, will be you, dear Marian.  
  
"He - Haldir I mean - he seems troubled. I worry about him, Jason. He paces his terrace at night as though he can't rest. He needs you. Are you sure you should be here with me instead of with him?"  
  
"Haldir does not 'pace,'" I laughed. Then I saw how serious she was. "Haldir can take care of himself. You need not worry for him."  
  
"But he seems so. . . cold at times. Pitiless, even."  
  
"You must understand that Haldir was not always so grave. Actually, he used to be much more fun," I teased. "He played the harp - not entirely well, I might add - and sang, and made as merry as the merriest among us."  
  
"And that would be you, no doubt," she interrupted dryly.  
  
"Of course," I replied. "But Haldir's responsibilities weigh heavily upon him, and they are many. He took the Lady's words to heart, as well he should have. He is a great leader, and has held our people together through many trials. Then the sickness came, as Galadriel foretold. He feels responsible, and I cannot convince him otherwise.  
  
If he seems harsh at times, it is only because it is what he thinks he needs to do. He is ever mindful of his duty. If he gets too obsessive about it, I straighten him out. Do not judge him too strongly."  
  
That at least got a small smile out of her, but didn't dispel the worry I could see in her eyes; the worry, and the love.  
  
"I don't judge him at all, Jason. It's just. . . it doesn't feel right to me, sometimes. It's hard to explain. But he has been better since we left - happier, less troubled." She shrugged, and changed the subject. She was talking to me at last, and that was good. Then again, it was getting late, and I was getting hungry.  
  
"So. All of those vacations to Switzerland, you were really. . . "  
  
". . . in Methentaurond, with Haldir," I finished for her. "And when I am not there to advise him, Vanimë is."  
  
At this she looked down and seemed to close herself off. So, Vanimë had not been exactly welcoming, as I had thought.  
  
"HOw long have you been here, Jason? How did you know where to look for me? There have been many cities of gold, many near the ocean. Mexico and the Aztecs; El Dorado, or the myth of its existence. How did you choose this place, and why now?"  
  
"Don't think I wasn't at all of those places," I replied jokingly. "And in many others as well. Your image stayed in my mind. You didn't look like a Spaniard, or an Aztec princess. Still, I had to go just to be sure.  
  
Let's just say that when the California Gold Rush came, I had a feeling. Would it be only a coincidence that it was not so very far from Methentaurond, that although we were scattered all over the world, what we called our home would be, if we understood Galadriel's words, not so very far from the long lost Grey Havens?" I shook my head. "There are few coincidences in life, Marian. There are opportunities, pattersn, congruences. I believed the Valar were telling us that this was the place.  
  
But it wasn't yet the time."  
  
"You were here during the Gold Rush?" Marian exclaimed in disbelief.  
  
I smiled. "Yes. Myself, and others."  
  
"You mined for gold?"  
  
"Marian, please," I snorted. "Mining is for dwarves. Let's just say that I was in the right place when the gold dust fell between the floorboards. So you see, you don't have to sell your house. We can afford anything you need."  
  
"You are a rascal!" she accused quite unfairly, but I had made her happy. Could I help it if people were careless, drunk, or stupid?"  
  
"How did you get away with it? she demanded. "How are you getting away with it now? I know you're an. . . what you are, and I still can't see it. Why?"  
  
She had been looking at me quite closely for some time, and I could tell what she needed.  
  
"I will not be offended if you touch me," I told her gently. "On the contrary, I have been trying to get you to touch me for years."  
  
Marian got out of her chair and I rose to meet her, removing the band that held back my hair. Slowly and with a trembling had, her eyes never leaving my face, she slid her fingers along my temple and lifted the hair up and over my left ear. Her face clouded with a look of utter confusion. Then she raised her other hand and lifted my hair up over my right ear. She frowned and looked closer. I tilted my head down toward hers, and let her. Then she looked in my eyes again, a look I will never forget, and held my face with the tenderest of touches.  
  
"Oh Jason, NO!" she cried, and the tears began to fall. We held each other, while she wept.  
  
I had not anticipated that Marian would react so emotionally to my appearance. It was clear that she didn't understand what she was seeing, and I had made a very bad mistake.  
  
I hugged her and tried to get her to listen to me.  
  
"Marian, don't cry, please," I begged her. "It's not what you think - it's just prosthetics. Look at me, please. It's all right. Look at me," I repeated, and pried her off of my chest.  
  
"I haven't cut them off, they're just pinned back, with fake earlobes on top. Sweetheart, look," I said, and pulled at the glue that was holding the rounded upper lobes onto my own ears.  
  
"Oh," she said with a gasp, sniffing and smiling at me sheepishly while she wiped her eyes. "Oh thank goodness you haven't done anything horrible to yourself, just over me."  
  
"Marian," I said reasonably. "Do you think that my ears are the only thing that makes me. . . what I am? If you lost part of your ear, would it make you any less a woman? It is the fea - the spirit - that is important, not the body only. I could never be anything but what I am, no matter what happened."  
  
"Well," she said uncomfortably, "it seems to me from having twisting Lindir's that they are a little more sensitive to you than they are to me. I wouldn't want you to lose anything. . . uh. . . pleasurable, or am I guessing wrongly?"  
  
"You twisted Lindir's ears - and lived? Whatever for? I wish I had been there to see it!" I couldn't help but burst into laughter.  
  
"I did it because I didn't believe him. It appeared to be extremely painful," she commented guiltily.  
  
"Indeed, I am sure it was pure agony, as you have guessed quite correctly."  
  
"Jason, I can't see your, uh, aura, your "fea," like Haldir and the others. I don't understand. It's almost like Callo, when he started to fade. Is there something wrong?"  
  
"No, nothing is amiss. It can be made less noticeable in need," I told her. "It just takes practice. Haldir has, and will, do the same while he is among Men."  
  
An uncomfortable silence followed. This was the moment I had dreaded most.  
  
"Marian," I began and took her hands in mine. "I know that I have deeply hurt you because I didn't tell you about myself," I felt quite awkward. This hurt my pride greatly, as I have not been awkward since I was an elfling, and that was a very, very long time ago.  
  
"It's alright, Jason. I understand. At first I was too hurt and angry to want to understand, but I do now. Really. We're ok."  
  
"You mean the world to me, Marian," I said with great relief. "I would miss fighting and arguing with you so much I would surely die if you rejected me, but I'll understand if you do. I really am your friend, dearest. I always will be."  
  
"I know, Jason. I'm sorry for thinking anything else. I'm sorry I've been such a jerk," she said, and hugged me tightly again, almost desperately. This repaired my pride quite nicely. "I've missed you so much!"  
  
"I've missed you, too, more than you know. Mmmm. You know, I could get used to this. Just move your hand a little bit further this way. . . "  
  
"Jason!"  
  
From "I Am Not Yours," a poem by Sara Teasdale. "The Cheeseburger Song", from the CD "Silly Songs with Larry," VegeTales. Olvar: Things that grow in one place - plants, trees. Kelvar: Things that walk the earth - animals, people.  
Pen-muin: Dear one. 


	22. Ch 22: I See the Same Stars

Title: The Tale of Marian Chapter: 22/? Rating: Hard R Pairing: OFC/Haldir Genre: Adventure/Romance/perhaps a little Angst Timeline: AU, modern times. Beta: None this chapter. Feedback: Welcomed, begged for, appreciated. Warnings: Sexual content. Author's Notes: This is a work in progress. Disclaimer: See Chapter 1 for disclaimer.  
  
THE TALE OF MARIAN  
  
CHAPTER 22 – I see the same stars through my window that you see through yours but we're worlds apart, worlds apart.  
  
27 September  
  
I have never known Jason to speak so seriously. We have made up quite  
nicely, and our friendship is even deeper for it. I have been wrong  
to think that I could never see him as the same person again. He is  
still genuinely Jason, through and through. A tremendous burden has  
been lifted from my mind, and I walk with a lighter step. With Jason  
by my side, the challenges that lie before me no longer seem  
insurmountable.  
  
I brought him home and fed him tonight. It was the least I could do,  
as he had stocked my refrigerator and he looked like he was starving.  
  
In the safety of my house, he took off his prosthetic ears - his own  
were quite beautiful - and did whatever it was he did to regain that  
elven glow that everyone in Methentaurond has in one degree or  
another. It was the fea - the Light of the soul - he said. Those who  
had seen Valinor with their own eyes were the brightest of all. He  
told me with reverence how Galadriel had appeared, and an elf lord  
called Glorfindel. Having the privilege of seeing Jason as he truly  
was took my breath away - as all of the elves did.  
  
I finally showed him my list. He agreed with Haldir and Lindir that  
the experts I said I needed were appropriate. The trick would be to  
find people who were passionate about their professions and what they  
could offer to society, and would be inspired to come with us and not  
give us away (or have us shut away!). These people would believe in  
the magic of the human spirit and its ability to transcend the norm -  
who could believe, no insist, that we all could make our world better  
if we tried. They also had to be people who would live and work well  
together.  
  
And I was the one who would have to convince them. What would I say?  
  
"What if I told you that there is an ancient culture hidden in the  
wilds. A culture that knows of us without us knowing of them, that  
has lived secluded from us by choice, and by necessity.  
  
Its people live as part of the earth, not in domination over it.  
They believe the higher good is to preserve beauty. They value  
faith, valor, truth, and stewardship of nature above possessions,  
dominance and power.  
  
They grieve for our careless waste of the gift we have been given.  
  
We have made a good start. We have banned our most harmful  
chemicals, reduced our acid rain. We have begun to build healthier  
buildings, replace lost wetlands, and to find other, better types  
of transportation.  
  
But we are over-fishing our oceans, destroying our coral reefs. We  
are paving over our crop fields and building mega-dams that destroy  
the life of our rivers. We continue to create nuclear wastes that  
we cannot completely contain.  
  
This culture - these people - are strong. Their society has  
existed for millennia, but now they are dying because we have made  
the earth sick. In spite of our planet's resiliency, soon it will  
not be able to heal itself, at least not in a way that we can  
thrive on it and not sicken and die ourselves.  
  
It is too late for them. They are the indicators, the sign that we  
too will soon follow them if we do not act now.  
  
What if I told you that this culture believes that we are its  
legacy; its final calling. They believe that, before they die,  
they must teach us how to heal the earth. They will give us hope,  
and the means to succeed. By learning their ways we could learn  
once again to respect the earth - to save ourselves. If only we  
would come to them, learn from them, and then, when they are gone,  
to teach the world what we have learned.  
  
Would you believe me? Or would you dismiss me as a far left-wing  
socialist, wacko environmentalist who has finally gone truly and  
irrevocably mad?  
  
What if I told you that I am none of those things? I have simply  
come to know these people. I have seen their home. I know that  
what they can offer us will never come again, and that if we do not  
embrace this treasure now, it will disappear forever with them.  
  
Would you come?  
  
And if you came, if you entered this sanctuary, would you keep it a  
secret while you learned, a treasure that you would guard from all  
harm? Would you join me to preserve and protect their home from  
the greedy and the power-hungry, from those who would squander it  
for their own purposes and then carelessly destroy it after?  
  
And when we were ready, would you help me give it to the world?"  
  
To trust strangers with such a calling is a desperate long shot, I  
know. But it is our only hope. Jason reminds me that I was once a  
stranger, too.  
  
It will, as Jason has warned me, be a difficult and risky business.  
We will have to think like fugitives, he says. We can trust no one  
but each other, if we are to avoid being discovered too soon, avoid  
having Methentaurond taken from us, ruined.  
  
His words scare me, because they are wise and true. Not that I wasn't  
already scared.  
  
I tell him I don't know how to think like a fugitive. Not  
surprisingly, he tells me that he does. I warn him there is always  
one traitor in any group, like Judas, who will choose money or fame  
over the ideal.  
  
He tells me that it can't be helped; we will simply have to find  
people with the right motivation.  
  
Simply?  
  
Besides, he tells me with the charming and casual assurance that only  
Jason can muster, we are not destined to fail, with a traitor as the  
instrument: We are destined to succeed!  
  
So we will use all of the technology at our disposal, but only to find  
potential people to contact. We will meet the people we choose in  
person; verbal communication only. We will show them my notebooks, my  
pressed plants, Jason's ring, but we will not allow a scrap to be  
borrowed or taken out of our sight. There will be no records, nothing  
to give us away. We will go underground.  
  
Jason quotes Charles Manson with a crooked grin, something like:  
"Extreme paranoia is only extreme awareness."  
  
I wish he would use a more appropriate example.  
  
Marian and I spent long days in the office and long hours each night at her house searching, finding, discarding and refining our list of people to approach about Methentaurond. Finally one morning about 2 am, Marian asked me to move in with her. We were together so much, she explained, it seemed like the sensible thing to do.  
  
Marian is so darned sensible.  
  
She worried aloud to me that living with her would cramp my love life, but I waved her off. Did she think I had no control at all? True, the ladies were bereft at my recent inattention to their needs. I was sure, I teased her, that once they heard I had moved in with her, they would cry themselves to sleep for weeks. But they would move on. And they would always have the memories.  
  
When we told Ed, all he said was "It's about time."  
  
So everyone thought we were finally sleeping together. We did nothing to correct their assumptions. Their assumptions would make it that much easier to leave together when the time came. And of course, as Marian disgustedly accused me after I had pinched her several times in front of Billie and most of the rest of the office (although she quite wrongly said fondled), I quite enjoyed taking as much advantage of the situation as possible.  
  
Besides, I found out some things about Marian living in the same house with her. Thankfully she didn't sing in the shower, because Marian can't sing. She was a great cook, considerate and amazingly easy to live with, except that she hated doing the dishes. Sometimes she would leave them until the next morning to wash. This was just not acceptable. You never knew when a friend might drop by, and I had a sterling reputation to maintain. I resigned myself to being the house dishwasher.  
  
Then there were the things that had changed since she'd come back. She had suddenly taken up jogging in the morning, which was quite out of character. Believe me, Marian is NOT a morning person. And she actually cut her hair short and let it go gray. When I asked her about it in a perfectly tactful way, all she did was mumble something about honesty, and shoving it down someone's throat. I thought going gray was taking honesty too far. It was going to look like I was living with my mother, or that I was some kind of gigolo. I just didn't know what to make of it.  
  
Anyway, when we were satisfied with our candidates, I helped Marian practice how to approach them - what to ask, how to get a feel for their personalities; and how much we should tell them. Marian chose people who could disappear for the few short months that we had left without arousing suspicion: professors who could take sabbaticals; researchers who could spend months in the field without contact. And she worked very hard to find people who were honest and straightforward, who loved their work for its own sake, and loved nature even more.  
  
I only advised her, never telling her who to choose or who not to. I saw that she was really quite good at it, so I mostly watched, and waited to see Haldir again so I could say I told him so.  
  
Of course, there was no way to really know about these people without talking to them in person, in their own element. So in late October we both quit our jobs, explaining to Ed that Marian's midlife crisis had recurred and that we had decided to take a break - relax, maybe travel.  
  
Ed told us that if we could afford to quit, then he had definitely been paying us too much.  
  
He gave the library project to Billie, who was quite happy about it. Tom, who had recently received his architecture license, got a promotion. Our exodus was a traditional excuse for an office party at Ed's expense, the bill for which he footed in surprisingly good humor. We all promised to keep in touch. I'm not sure, really, how sad they all were to see us go.  
  
Marian admitted to me much later that she never really knew if she was doing this all for herself, for society at large, for me, for all of the elves, or whether she was doing it to prove to Haldir that she could. Maybe, she said, she was doing it for him alone, and she wondered if that was wrong.  
  
I told her she was doing it for all of those reasons, and that any one of them would have served quite well enough. I do know, though, which reason she thought about the most.  
  
30 October  
  
It's been so nice to have a man in the house again. I wasn't sure  
that such close quarters would work out well between us, but I'm  
enjoying Jason's company immensely, and he's surprisingly comfortable  
to live with. He even likes to do the dishes!  
  
He brings a male energy to the place, and to those hours that I have  
spent too much of alone. I love to come in from jogging in the  
morning and hear him singing in the shower. He has such a lyrical  
voice that listening to it makes me dance around the room, where he  
can't see me. Yet there are times that I want to be alone, and he  
gives me the space I need. I never feel overwhelmed by his presence.  
  
The presence I long for more and more each day is Haldir's. I didn't  
dream of him when we were together on the trail. The night after he  
left me and Jason the dreams began again; momentary, vague images, not  
like before. One night I dreamed that I walked around a corner in a  
dim hallway and he was walking toward me, looking at me with those  
serious, hypnotizing eyes. Then he turned his head as if distracted  
by something, and disappeared in the dark. Last night I dreamed of  
him strolling along a shaded path beneath the trees, immense golden  
trees that reminded me of the mallorn in the cavern. He was walking  
away from me with a blond elleth, but I couldn't see who it was. He  
turned and looked at me over his shoulder as though he would speak.  
Then the trees rustled and his image faded, wavering like the surface  
of a pond in a gust of wind.  
  
Tonight I sat by the fire with Jason, leafing idly through a worn and  
fragile book of elvish poetry that was in his things when he moved in.  
I tried to read some stanzas out loud and Jason corrected me. We  
chatted comfortably about Lindir and Allinde and others in  
Methentaurond. Disturbed about the dream I had last night, I slipped  
in an innocent question or two about Vanimë. Why was it, I wondered,  
that she was so unfriendly toward me?  
  
You must not let Vanimë bother you, Jason smiled. She hovers over me,  
and especially Haldir, more like an overprotective mother than like a  
cousin. I'm sure she was quite critical of you. But she will accept  
you eventually, once she learns to trust you.  
  
Cousin? I asked Jason in confusion, barely hearing the rest of what  
Jason said. But she practically lives with him, I said before I could  
stop myself.  
  
Of course, Jason said, that's perfectly natural. Elven families are  
quite close - much closer than mortals. Well, not THAT close, he  
clarified quickly. Marian, he exclaimed, looking at me carefully, did  
you think that Haldir and Vanimë were, uh, involved romantically?  
  
I tried not to react, but I felt my eyes grow wider and my cheeks  
redden in spite of my efforts.  
  
Oh Marian! Jason splurted and began laughing. I. . . I'm sorry,  
but I. . . just can't help it! I could see that Jason was on his  
way to developing a fit. He was doubling over in his efforts not to  
laugh, which made him laugh even harder. My embarrassment deepened.  
Haldir and Vanimë, he gasped between fits of laughter. Oh pen muin!  
The thought. . . defies description! Ahhhhhhhh!  
  
I don't know if its elves in general or just Jason, but once he starts  
in laughing and can't stop, it can last until he's sick to his stomach  
on the floor. I uncurled my legs from the sofa and got him a glass of  
water, then stepped out onto the cold, rain-soaked deck to cool my  
burning cheeks. When I came back in he was still laughing weakly,  
though he looked like he was in pain, with tears running down his  
cheeks. It served him right.  
  
I''m going to bed Jason, I said and patted him not too gently on the  
back, determined to leave him alone with his mirth. But I couldn't  
help but smile. My heart swelled with the thought that Haldir wasn't  
attached after all. But then why would he sometimes seem interested,  
then push me away?  
  
4 November  
  
There is so much about the ages before Methentaurond and the way the  
elves have lived in Allinde's library that we can't learn it all in a  
few short months. We must be able to understand and interpret it  
after they are gone. What we need most of all is a linguist, someone  
who could learn the words and the heart of the elvish language  
quickly. I believe we found the perfect person today.  
  
Her name is Arianna, at 23 the youngest associate professor of  
linguistics at Lajos Kossuth University in Debrecen, Hungary. Her  
biography on the University website said that she was the daughter of  
a Hungarian diplomat. As a young child she traveled extensively  
wherever her father's position had taken him. Her parents noticed  
that from a very early age Arianna had an astounding aptitude and  
insatiable hunger for languages. She overcame her initial shyness and  
collected words and phrases from each native person she met and  
quietly charmed – the maids, the visiting dignitaries, the  
shopkeepers, doctors, or groundskeepers - like other little girls  
collected stuffed animals. Her parents quickly provided her with  
language tutors and immersed her in each culture that she encountered.  
Besides her native Hungarian, by the time she was eighteen she was  
already fluent in, Russian, German, English, and Arabic. She also had  
an equal interest and knowledge in the people that spoke these  
languages. Upon entering the University, she began to study the  
cultural origins of language itself.  
  
Jason and I could have found many people internationally, and even  
some Americans, with equal fluency. But it was the sixth language  
Arianna spoke, and the research that had become her passion, that  
sealed my interest in her.  
  
Her current course offering was "Inspired by Nature: the Origins of  
Japanese Language and Calligraphy." There was a web page describing  
the class and the research behind it. Despite my dismal performance  
even under Allinde's expert guidance, her ideas were much like my  
humble impressions of Sindarin, Jason's native tongue. The Elvish  
language is rich with imagery and descriptions derived from nature:  
the passage of time is likened to a bird on the wing; movement is  
communicated through the symbolism of the wind or the currents of a  
river; new thoughts or new life through the rising of the sun or the  
changing seasons. The Elvish language was as much poetic imagery as  
it was language, revering and celebrating the beauty of the natural  
world. Arianna described Japanese as developing in much the same way.  
  
I thought she was extremely promising. When Jason and I arrived from  
our plane flight to meet her late one afternoon in her cramped office  
in the University language department, her shelves and desk  
overflowing but orderly with books and manuscripts, her walls aglow  
with prints of colorful Japanese woodcuts, we were sure.  
  
Arianna was cheerful, beautiful (a definite plus with Jason), and  
brilliant. Her infectious enthusiasm and energy, her absolute passion  
for peoples and languages won me over in an instant. That, and what  
we found in the language department's basement kitchenette.  
  
It hadn't taken too much prodding to get Arianna to open up and  
discuss her studies with us. Jason had inserted a few innocuous  
personal questions that assured us of her freedom to take a break from  
her work without arousing too much suspicion – she was single and  
unattached, her parents had passed away, and her work involved  
frequent travel.  
  
I began carefully and in very general terms to explain to her why we  
had come – that we had a research project to propose to her that would  
break new ground and support her theories of language development, and  
that we had brought something of interest to show her – when she  
sprang up and announced, mostly to Jason, that she had been remiss as  
a hostess in not offering us coffee first. She insisted that we  
follow her into the department kitchenette so we could continue our  
conversation.  
  
I thought I recognized the purpose of the blue bin on the counter.  
  
"Arianna, is that. . . a worm bed?" I asked her.  
  
"Oh. Yes," she said, and I noticed that her Hungarian accent became  
more pronounced when she became shy. "It's for the coffee grounds,  
and lunch scraps. I take the compost home for my garden."  
  
"This is your idea? My dear, this is wonderful!" Jason said, raising  
the lid and making Arianna blush profusely. I sympathized with her  
and tried not to grin – Jason had that effect on women, especially  
young ones.  
  
"Well," she continued when she saw our enthusiasm, "at first the  
others laughed rudely at me for bringing it in, but now we all feed  
them. Even old professor Tempkin now calls them our department pets,"  
she said proudly.  
  
"But now," she clapped her hands eagerly, "what do you have to show  
me?" and led us back to her office fortified with steaming cups of  
thick Hungarian coffee.  
  
"First," I cautioned, "you must promise that what is said here will go  
no further than this room, at least not for several months. This  
project is very sensitive. As a researcher I know that you can  
appreciate the damage that can be done, both to the research itself  
and to the object of that research, if it is exposed prematurely.  
What irreplaceable knowledge can be lost forever with a careless word  
or a dropped note."  
  
"Of course, of course I understand," Arianna said carefully but with  
clear enthusiasm.  
  
"You would have to take a sabbatical, say beginning next month or so –  
give some excuse that would be plausible to your colleagues without  
revealing the exact nature of your work. We would of course reimburse  
you for the wages that you would have earned here during this time,  
and pay you for your work with us as well. But even if you decide not  
to accept our proposal, we would ask that you promise not speak of it  
to anyone."  
  
"Yes, I promise," she said decisively. What have you to show me?  
Please explain."  
  
I looked at Jason. There would be no going back from here. He nodded  
his head almost imperceptibly.  
  
"I think you might want to sit down," I advised Arianna. I took a  
deep breath and carefully pulled Jason's elvish book out of my purse.  
I gently opened it and spread it and my language notes on Arianna's  
crowded desk.  
  
She drew the book reverently toward her, and her eyes grew to twice  
their normal size.  
  
"Arianna, what if I told you that there is an ancient culture hidden  
in the wilds. . . "I began, and we talked through the fading  
afternoon light and long into the evening.  
  
9 November  
  
We also need a doctor, not only to learn what the elves can teach us,  
but for our own group's health and safety. I have no unrealistic  
expectations that Lomion or Haldir will be able to teach their  
seemingly magical healing powers to us, but there is much to be  
learned in herbal medicine. I thought instantly of Joel Martin.  
  
Joel had been a brilliant pre-med student while I had been an  
architectural undergraduate, but somehow we had found ourselves both  
in the same Rural Society class. I was there to learn about rural  
settlement patterns; Joel to find the science behind old wives tales  
and herbal remedies at a time when the medical establishment scoffed  
at such silliness. He was hell-bent on proving them wrong. I don't  
think either one of us got what we came for, but we did get to know  
each other.  
  
Joel had been darkly handsome, intense, and passionate about leading  
medicine in a more wholistic direction long before the term "wellness"  
was coined. I had lost track of him when he had left Berkeley to  
pursue his doctorate studying herbal medicine in the rural mountains  
of Appalachia.  
  
I found him through the alumni directory, not so very far away at the  
University of San Francisco Medical Center. He was now a practicing  
physician and medical researcher. I wanted to know if he was still as  
dedicated to his dream as he had been in college.  
  
Jason and I had a hard time making an appointment with him. We  
finally caught up with him as he jogged up to his house in the upper-  
scale neighborhood of North Beach. Luckily he remembered me. He  
invited us into his roomy, designer-furnished home office. It offered  
an unobstructed view of the beach and a wall thick with certificates  
and photos and folk art antiques. Dr. Joel had done quite well for  
himself.  
  
Missing were the obligatory family pictures; no portrait of wife or  
kids on the desk. It didn't surprise me. Joel was in excellent  
physical condition, graying yet still magnetically handsome. But his  
schedule was obviously stressful and demanding, and the way he showed  
us into his study told me that he had retained a healthy dose of  
egotism. Perhaps this was why, for all his professional success, he  
had apparently not found it advantageous to maintain his marriage,  
even in light of his Catholic upbringing.  
  
I turned our visit from personal reminiscences to appreciative  
questions about Joel's research at the medical center. Joel was more  
than happy to impress us with his accomplishments. It quickly became  
apparent that he had drifted away from his love of herbal medicine  
into more heavily funded research, until what had begun as temporary  
spurts of needed income had become his entire focus. He spoke  
wistfully of his years in Appalachia – how idealistic he had been  
then; what fascinating things he had seen and learned, how he wished  
he had persevered through the hard, lean times when there was no  
backing to be found. But, he said as if trying to convince himself,  
what he did here was valuable, too, and very rewarding.  
  
You sold out, Joel, I accused him harshly. You let a lifestyle you  
could brag about, your need to be patted on the back, control you  
instead of the other way around. You let the big wheels with the big  
grants and the even bigger strings attached tell you to study what  
they wanted you to study. Did they tell you what results they wanted  
you to find, too?  
  
I knew I wasn't being fair to attack Joel's integrity, but I wanted  
him to get angry. I wanted to see the passion that I thought might  
still be there.  
  
I can't believe you just said that to me, he stood up and spat in  
indignation. I invited you into my home, you and a total stranger, he  
waved at Jason. For what? So you could attack me? You've worn out  
your welcome, Marian. I think you both need to leave right now!  
  
Jason and I got up and allowed ourselves to be firmly led down the  
paneled hallway toward the door.  
  
You can protest all you want, DOCTOR, I jabbed as we reached the door,  
but you know I'm right.  
  
Get out of my house, Joel said, still incensed, but the tone of his  
voice told me that I had hit a sensitive area.  
  
I can offer you a fresh beginning Joel, a second chance to follow the  
dreams I know you still have, I pressed as he opened the door.  
  
I opened my garden notebook for the first time to a pressed plant of a  
kind that Gladrel had prepared infusions of for Lomion several times;  
a plant that I hoped Joel would recognize – or rather, not recognize-  
as one he had never seen before.  
  
He stopped in the middle of his attempt to shove us out the door,  
blinked hard, and reached for my notebook. I slammed it shut.  
  
Think of the things you could learn, Joel, the new medicines you could  
bring back and teach your students to use. Who knows what diseases  
this plant, or others like it, could cure? Here's my card, I said,  
writing my cell phone number on the back and shoving it into his  
pocket. I'll give you a week to call me, no more. Cell phones only.  
One week, Joel, and I'll tell you all about it. Come with me for a  
couple of months, and I'll show you.  
  
He closed the door soundly behind us.  
  
I went too far. I blew it, I said to Jason as we stepped down the  
hill in front of Joel's house. And you didn't exactly help. You  
didn't even open your mouth. I thought you were here to help me?  
  
You were on a roll, Marian, why interrupt? Jason said with a grin.  
  
I shook my head and got in the passenger side of the car when Jason  
held the door open for me. What I said wasn't fair. It wasn't true,  
I told Jason guiltily.  
  
He's comfortable and secure, dear one, but he knows there's something  
missing, Jason told me. His soul is sleeping. It wants to wake up  
again.  
  
He'll call, Jason said.  
  
I drove back from San Francisco. Marian was too preoccupied. She craned her neck every time she pointed to an interesting building. She did the same whenever she saw a bright red car or a tall man with long blond hair pass by on the crowded streets. To be anywhere near a car with architects in it driving through San Francisco is dangerous, but this was worse. She surely would have run someone down. I negotiated the maze of traffic and let her wear herself out without endangering the public or, more importantly, me.  
  
I knew that it wouldn't be right for me to talk to Marian about her feelings for Haldir; not until she decided to tell me about them. That is why even though I wanted to I didn't tell her that I could see her looking, and that I knew he would have already left.  
  
Finally we crossed the Bay Bridge and out of The City proper (only San Francisco would call itself "The City", as if no other place on earth could be comparable enough to call itself one). By the time we left most of the traffic behind us and were cruising through the warmer, windy hills east of the bay, she was dozing.  
  
10 November  
  
Maybe it was being in San Francisco. Or perhaps it is because I can't  
stop wanting Haldir, can't keep myself from hoping that even though he  
has no choice but to leave, he might let me into his heart when I see  
him again, just for a little while. I think of the huckleberries and  
how he held me at night, and I can't help but hope he has some small  
feelings for me. All I know is that the dream I had last night was  
the most vivid, most intensely sexual dream I have ever experienced .  
As soon as I awoke I could feel that he was coming. I hurriedly  
buckled my last layer of faded and somewhat frayed robes as I heard  
his steps approaching the door. I checked the last of the laces to  
ensure that they were firmly tied. The faint squeak of the door  
bolt, rarely used and thus significant, sounded through the heavy  
curtains. I wouldn't have heard him coming inside if he hadn't  
wanted to alert me to his arrival.  
  
My palms had become damp with the hurried preparations that I  
had only wakened and decided on a few minutes ago. The sitting  
room beyond the curtains was now still, and I knew he stood  
somewhere silently, waiting for me. Or was he even now silently  
stalking me?  
  
Taking a slow breath to calm myself, I wiped my hands on the  
front of my skirts and slowly drew the heavy bedroom curtains  
aside, stepping purposefully into the room to confront him. Where  
was he?  
  
I looked around swiftly. I wouldn't be able to discern his  
location unless he moved, and he knew it. He would avoid the pale,  
horizontal light of first dawn falling tentative and hazy on the  
far wall and throwing the rest of the room into a warm chiaroscuro  
of dim grays and darker, shadowy corners. Yet I felt his presence  
strongly – he was here. Waiting.  
  
My pulse quickening in the base of my throat, I advanced one,  
two silent steps into the room. Then I froze like a timid rabbit  
that knows the hungry fox is near. Sensing rather than seeing or  
hearing the furtive movement, too late I spun around. How had he  
so easily moved behind me, and when?  
  
I wondered fleetingly if anyone was near enough to hear should I  
scream. Before I could finish turning, before I could draw breath  
enough to call out, he was upon me.  
  
A demanding mouth claimed my own with no prelude, no request for  
permission. Iron-muscled arms crushed me against a tall  
uncompromising frame. I clutched at his travel-worn and dusty  
garments, twisting ineffectively in his firm grasp. I felt the  
vibration of laughter on his firm, possessive lips. Could I have  
released my own lips from his to cry out, I knew that this time it  
would not dissuade him from the demands of his physical need.  
  
So when at last he loosened his hold on me and allowed me but a  
few inches of precious freedom, one arm still firmly holding me  
against him, I did not waste my breath to speak, but only to gasp  
for air.  
  
"Endlessly have I savored the thought of this moment these long,  
lonely weeks," he said in a low voice rough with both desire and  
victory.  
  
"No one is near," he added meaningfully as he evaluated and  
dismissed each lace and grommet of my robe's bodice for the minor  
challenge they would present.  
  
I had known from the moment I had awakened that my hurried  
preparations would be futile against his strong and nimble hands.  
But then, I'd had other reasons for dressing as I had. So I looked  
him directly in his dark, bottomless eyes, feigning bravery as he  
backed me into the growing shaft of sunlight. I caught my breath  
as it set his shining and unfettered hair into a blaze of golden  
fire tinted red and orange by the sun. So, he had taken the time  
to bathe before he sought to track me down.  
  
He reached up with his free hand to twirl the lace on my bodice  
slowly around his index finger. He began to pull the bow loose,  
cockily awaiting my reaction. Waiting for any chance to break  
loose from him, I steadied my gaze and my mind so as not to reveal  
my inner thoughts.  
  
The set of his mouth betraying slight irritation, he yanked the  
bow the rest of the way, unexpectedly finding that the knot held  
fast. My lip curled involuntarily, signaling my minor victory.  
His eyes sparkled darkly in response, daring me to try to escape as  
he released my waist to free the double knot.  
  
Though we were somewhat closer to the locked door now, I knew  
this was not the time to try to run – not yet.  
  
Quickly he grasped me by the arms again and slid my gown down  
off of my shoulders. It fell into folds on the floor and I kicked  
it free, not wanting to trip over it should I have a small  
opportunity to flee.  
  
With the searing gaze that I had never quite become accustomed  
to, he studied his next challenge – another layer of clothing that  
I wore under the discarded gown, but not the last. He began to  
realize that he was still far from his goal. Murmurs of desire and  
intrigued annoyance floated at the corners of my mind, but he would  
not yet allow me full knowledge of his thoughts.  
  
"It is not wise to toy with me so early in the morning, melamin,  
and especially not in my current. . . condition," he warned me,  
and a fleeting but strong wave of lust rippled across my own  
thoughts, tugging at them playfully.  
  
I looked down at his breeches and saw clearly the condition to  
which he was referring. I looked up and gave him a taunting smile.  
I was sure that he could sense that in fact, my condition by this  
time was not so different from his own.  
  
Stepping back slightly, he dropped his own belt and loosened his  
tunic, his eyes momentarily losing sight of me as he pulled it and  
his undertunic over his head all at once.  
  
Willing myself with utmost difficulty not to tarry in admiration  
of his bare flexing chest and arms, I saw my chance and made a  
break for the door.  
  
I got almost halfway, shrieking as I barely eluded his grasp by  
twisting to the side and planting the sofa firmly between us.  
  
I knew he could have caught me easily and that the sofa offered  
me no protection. The predatorial look he fixed me with as he  
began to move smoothly to the side, and the rise and fall of his  
chest as he began to breath harder, told me that I had set his  
primal masculine instincts into full pitch.  
  
Haldir was equally as formidable a lover in bed as he was a  
fierce warrior in battle. I was rarely a match for his unbridled  
ardor. I knew he often held back from the edge when we made love.  
I wondered if this time I had started something, the consequences  
of which I wouldn't be able to handle. Even though I knew he would  
never hurt me, I felt a twinge of apprehension.  
  
He smiled cockily again, and I knew he had felt my inner  
hesitation in his own mind. "It is much, much too late to stop the  
game that you yourself began, my sweet prize. I trust," he purred,  
and I felt his voice become almost a physical caress on my body,  
"That you are not overly fond of the clothing you have so uselessly  
tied. . . and buckled. . . and wrapped so tightly around  
yourself." He punctuated each word with another step around the  
sofa, which I matched with my own, keeping it firmly between us.  
  
On the contrary, I replied shakily, trying to keep my voice from  
rising to an alto-soprano, these garments are each very dear to me  
in their own way.  
  
His eyebrows cocked wickedly, and I knew I had given myself  
away. He had only guessed up until now at the many of layers I had  
applied to myself, making sure each was thin enough that the total  
effect was not obviously bulky.  
  
"The garments are old, and worn," he countered, continuing to  
slowly stalk me. "You would be much more appealing were I to  
relieve you of them!" With that he feigned right and I bolted for  
the door, only to see him leap easily over the sofa and corner me,  
clasping me tightly against his hips. What easy prey I was! I  
scolded myself as I gasped for breath.  
  
They are of great sentimental value, I found myself chattering  
as he raptly watched my chest heave against my clothing with each  
indrawn breath. I would be heartbroken, I said, were you to damage  
them in any way.  
  
As any cornered animal might do, I sprang forward and tried to  
knock him off balance, only to have him twist me off my feet and  
position himself firmly on top of me on the floor.  
  
"You lie very badly," he whispered hotly into my ear and  
straddled my hips. Without warning he ripped the next garment from  
my waist, revealing another, thinner gown beneath. He was getting  
closer. Seeing that it was also laced tightly across my breasts,  
he smiled and wrapped my hair around one hand. Reaching down with  
the other, he unbuckled the fabric belt, kissing my lips feverishly  
and then lowering his head to pull the laces with his teeth. Now  
he allowed his craving for me wash through my mind, feeding my own  
desire for him and making me heady and weak. I grasped his thick,  
long hair in my hands, not sure if I wanted to fight him or help  
him, carried away by his long-awaited passion and my own breathless  
state of anticipation.  
  
Pulling the laces he again found them double-knotted. Growling  
in impatience he let go of my hair and ripped the fabric from my  
chest to my waist, every layer at once, and feasted on the sight of  
my bare breasts. He gave a gutteral cry of conquest and lowered  
his head, attending to them until I was arching up to him, begging  
him to go lower, hardly able to endure waiting.  
  
Reaching one hand lower to rip the garments down my hips while  
he continued to mercilessly and deliciously tease me, his hand  
stopped cold and he raised back away from my chest in wide-eyed  
disbelief, his thoughts unguarded and clear in my mind. I smiled.  
  
"Leggings?!?!" he shouted loudly, his voice cracking in ultimate  
frustration. It was a wonder that the whole city didn't hear him.  
  
His lips drawn closed into a thin line, his nostrils flaring, he  
heaved himself back and in one movement tore the threadbare  
leggings and the rest of my dresses down over my legs and off my  
feet, and threw them across the room. Towering over me, his chest  
heaving with pent-up passion, the outline of his form aglow with  
the sunlight growing stronger behind him, I marveled as always that  
this elf had bonded himself to me and me alone.  
  
I looked up at him, biting my lip in amusement. You're still  
dressed, I commented, looking pointedly at the laces of his own  
leggings.  
  
Staring down at me with steely eyes flashing, he knelt in front  
of me. I reached out and ever so slowly pulled his laces free.  
Growling impatiently, he pulled them down. Not bothering to remove  
them further than his thighs, h e pushed forward and pinned my hips  
to the floor firmly but not uncomfortably, and held me there.  
  
"You are mine," he stated in the deepest of velvety tones as his  
body locked heavily, possessively with mine. My hips rose  
automatically to meet his movements, and he pushed my hips down  
against the floor again. I wriggled beneath him, desperate for him  
to continue, to sweep me away with the fiery sensations that his  
attentions had caused me.  
  
"Say you are mine," he demanded huskily both out loud and in my  
mind, and held my eyes locked to his own, not moving, not allowing  
me to make him move. Breathing heavily, he smiled cheekily again  
at my helpless and needy condition. Slowly, tortuously, he moved  
away from me once more, poising himself barely above me. I  
strained needfully to touch him once more, but he matched my  
efforts move for move, staying just the smallest bit away. He knew  
he was driving me wild.  
  
Finally, suddenly, he thrust against me again. "Say you are  
mine," he demanded again, breathing hard and shakily through  
clenched teeth. He gasped when a long moan escaped my lips. I was  
shuddering with my need for him, near the end of my ability to  
think clearly. Every thought, every sensation was now centered on  
him. Yet I knew from his shuddering breaths that he also could not  
control himself much longer.  
  
As usual, when I am completely helpless I become the most  
idiotically defiant. I glared up at him. YOU are MINE, I answered  
him. I felt his chest and stomach shake with mirth and raw passion  
combined. He raised back and grasped me close, at last allowing  
himself to make love to me in earnest.  
  
It is good to be home, amrún nín, he grinned as I whispered his  
name and cried out with pleasure and the strong, warm sun poured  
into the room.  
  
If I continue on dreaming this way, I don't know how I'll manage to  
stay sane. I count each hour, each minute until I'm near him again:  
  
15 November  
  
If I didn't know that we were in southern Chile I would think that we  
were in northern California, except that there aren't as many roads,  
or people. Substitute forests of monkey puzzle trees for redwoods,  
and it's like someone took the entire sweep of the California  
coastline from sunny Newport Beach to the rainy Oregon border and  
turned it upside down over the Equator.  
  
We were looking for Roger Martinez's bank near the northern border of  
the Malleco National Reserve, but the transplanted Oregon native we  
were looking for was "in the field" at the invitation of the Chilean  
park service, so we followed him into the interior with one of the  
rangers who would pick him up by helicopter.  
  
We spotted him collecting seeds at the base of one of the ancient pine  
trees and he waved a wide-brimmed straw hat at us as we passed  
overhead to find a place to land.  
  
Martinez nodded at the ranger as we approached through the underbrush  
and held out a handful of seeds. You know, he lectured to no one in  
particular as he overturned and examined each one, these trees don't  
produce seeds until they're almost 200 years old. Then when they do,  
these buggers sprout almost all year long. Don't keep well, though,  
even in cold storage, he added absently. They've got a mind to grow.  
  
So who the hell are you and why are you bothering me? he yelled  
gruffly, glaring at Jason at last. The intimidating effect the old  
man was hoping for was ruined, however, when at the same time he  
removed his straw hat, nodded at me, and acknowledged my presence with  
a polite "Señorita." Marian, I said. His attention went straight  
back to Jason. Jason introduced himself and Martinez shook his hand  
with an iron grip. It was obvious who sr. Martinez figured was in  
charge.  
  
He's hard of hearing, un poco, Ranger Palacios held his thumb and  
index finger up close together to demonstrate, and headed back to the  
helicopter to wait.  
  
I am not, Martinez grumbled a little less loudly and cast the receding  
ranger a fond if irritated look with sharp, clear eyes that belied his  
76 years. Roger Martinez was old but he was deeply tanned, wiry and  
spry, riding in bicycle marathons in his spare time. Jason and I had  
no doubt that he would make it to Methentaurond with no trouble, if we  
could convince him to go with us. I was right in assuming that when  
he saw what was in my plant notebook, it would be easy. Once he had  
felt that he had protested enough, that is.  
  
He'd gone to the University, studied horticulture and crop genetics.  
He found out he could get anything to grow that he wanted to, so he  
became a Master Gardener too. He'd dropped out of school once he  
became disgusted with commercial agriculture's focus on engineering  
their crops for mass harvesting and nothing else. Why a tomato didn't  
even taste like a tomato anymore!  
  
He soon became alarmed at the loss of plant varieties. The big farms  
used three, maybe four types of tomatos; the rest were disappearing  
even from grandma's garden. If the few varieties the farms used got  
some disease they couldn't resist; if the crops were decimated, then  
where would we all be? Up the proverbial creek without a paddle,  
that's where! he yelled for emphasis.  
  
Variety isn't just the spice of life, young sr. Jason, he said,  
pointing at Jason's chest for emphasis, it's what will save us as a  
species. That's why he started the seed bank, down here where people  
minded their own business.  
  
He'd gathered seeds for every kind of plant he could find, from every  
heirloom garden and park and mountain and swamp. Somebody had to do  
it, so why not him? He now sold organic seeds by mail order. People  
sent him new varieties from all over the world. His seed bank was the  
biggest one in the Western Hemisphere. He had over twenty gardeners  
working for him; some of them actually knew what they were doing  
because they listened to him when he told them what to do, and why.  
Few really understood: You didn't just stick a seed in the dirt and  
water it. You had to talk to it, listen to what it needed.  
  
I nodded in agreement. Gladrel was going to love Roger Martinez.  
  
Someday, Martinez continued lecturing us, some young man would find a  
cure for cancer - a compound in a rare, disappearing plant that would  
have that special something that none of the others like it would have  
- and they would come to him to get it. Even now he had a scientist  
from some University in Brazil snooping around his gardens with his  
microscopes and his computers.  
  
Once he came down to Chile where his parents had been born, he told  
us, he loved it so much that he swore he would never go back to the  
States. You couldn't even blow your nose there without somebody  
telling you how to do it. Too many lawyers. Not enough common sense.  
What made us think that we could talk him into going back?  
  
Jason said in his best endearing voice, ¿Pero tiene una familia en  
Oregon, no?  
  
Sure I do, he barked, a son who'd done well for himself, had a pretty  
daughter-in-law and a fine grandson. But what did that have to do  
with anything? They visited him down here every year.  
  
Seeds, I said.  
  
¿Qué? What? sr. Martinez squinted at me.  
  
Seeds! I said a little louder.  
  
Well you don't have to yell you know, he grumbled and shook his head.  
What kind of seeds? he then asked with a keen eye. I had finally  
gotten his attention.  
  
Well, I don't know, sr. Martinez, I replied and opened my gardening  
notebook and plant press on the ground below the monkey puzzle tree.  
I thought maybe you could tell me.  
  
I've. . . I've never seen anything like these, he said, running a  
finger gently but excitedly across the soft, fuzzy surface of a  
pressed leaf. Where did you find these?  
  
I looked at Jason and he nodded.  
  
We'll take you there, Jason told him. But don't tell señor Palacios  
or anyone else about this.  
  
Young man! Martinez said in exasperation, glancing at the ranger in  
the helicopter. I may be old but I'm not daft . And my name's Roger,  
so use it.  
  
Sr. Martinez - Roger - flew back with us in the helicopter. He was  
done for the day and wanted to get back to his gardens to see if  
anyone had screwed things up while he was gone.  
  
Got a young one there, do you? he elbowed me in the arm and cocked his  
head at Jason as we flew over the forest toward the coast.  
  
Jason threw back his head and laughed. He had been teasing me  
mercilessly since I had cut back my hair and started to let it go gray  
again. I was doing so because of what Haldir had said to me, but I  
wasn't about to admit that to Jason.  
  
Now you know who's really in charge, Roger, Jason said.  
  
¿Es verdad? Martinez asked Jason and looked from him to me with  
newfound interest.  
  
Quite true, Jason grinned at me.  
  
Fine, I knew when I was being ganged up on. I folded my arms in front  
of me and ignored them both by looking out the window.  
  
Well, will wonders never cease, said Roger.  
  
I am looking forward to showing him how true his words really are.  
  
By the middle of December Marian and I had contacted nine people who we wanted to join us. Joel had called us back, as I had predicted. Marian's only serious disappointment was that her friend Matt, a lawyer, would not be coming. Matt had gained an international reputation championing environmental causes. He and Marian had argued constantly about the methods, if not the end results. Take the spotted owl for example, the little brown predator that was the successful if controversial poster-child for hundreds of acres of old-growth redwoods being removed from logging. Endangered nesting areas my eye, Marian would say, spotted owls nest behind Safeway signs for crying out loud. It's nothing but bullshit propaganda. Exactly, Matt would retort, those without the power and money had to use whatever methods they could to get the results they wanted. The ends don't justify the means, Marian would tell him. There's nothing lower than lying to get what you want. Oh Marian, Matt would reply, don't be naive. One side exaggerates one way, the other side has to exaggerate the opposite direction, or nothing will ever happen. And on. . . and on. . . I got the distinct impression that the ever-present promise of a good-natured detailed argument was the main basis for their long friendship.  
  
Unfortunately Matt the workaholic bachelor had just gotten married and was not in the frame of mind to spend months on end away from his new wife. He was too nervous about blowing it. We had only started a long-distance phone conversation to Atlanta, Georgia with him when I signaled Marian to cut it short before we gave him too much information. To say that she was disappointed was a vast understatement.  
  
Matt is the most intelligent person I've ever met, Marian complained to me when I told her - I mean strongly advised her - not to ask him to come. His heart is in the right place. He knows how to convince people. He's persistent. He knows how to write resolutions and debate issues and. . . and all of that lawyer stuff we need to protect Methentaurond. He would have been perfect. Perfect. . .  
  
Matt was the only person we contacted for whom Marian's heart masked her better judgement. She finally said she agreed with me, but in spite of her words I could tell she hadn't quite let the idea go.  
  
That left us with eight: Arianna, Joel, Roger, Dieter, a security expert, Yasmin, a cultural anthropologist, Martha, an art historian, Tommy Woo, a botanist who was, as luck would have it, a musician as well, and Mason Wells, an ecologist. Marian also wanted a structural engineer, but I told her that the engineer could come later. Being an architect, she could cover engineering interests herself for the time being. And we needed to keep the size of our group small, for manageability and to keep a low profile.  
  
We would leave in early January, barely within the four month deadline that Haldir had rightly insisted upon. It would give everyone the holidays to make their arrangements and allow Marian to visit with her daughters before we left. She had decided not to tell them what we were up to until she could announce it to everyone. Her oldest, she said, wouldn't believe her anyway, and her youngest would believe her at once but couldn't keep a secret.  
  
Bruno, of course, would come with us. After his first trip with her, Marian said, it just wouldn't be fair to leave him behind.  
  
We decided that we would pose as a religious group going on a retreat in case questions were asked. Yasmin, the anthropologist, objected to this on the grounds that she was an athiest and a scientist, not a Baptist, but Marian quickly convinced her that the choice was the most logical one. Why else, she posed to Yasmin, would people believe that anyone would go backpacking in January unless it was a devout religious group heading into the wilderness? Outwardly Yasmin said that she was coming mainly so that she could prove us wrong about just about everything we told her. But Marian knew as well as I that she was posturing. Marian added that the strongest supporters of a cause were the converts. She had a good point.  
  
In deference to the less experienced hikers, we gave everyone a list of what to bring with them, as well as what was absolutely, strictly forbidden, namely electronic devices of any type. A massive groan escaped each person at this horrible announcement, especially the young ones who had grown up literally attached to their computers. Marian was adamant. Electronic devices could give away our location. The scientists among the group responded more to Marian's statement that a good researcher did as little as possible to change the object being studied. No one used computers or other electronics where we were going; there was no electricity at all. None would be allowed.  
  
We arranged by cell phone to meet together in the meeting room above the bar in the old stone gold-rush era Soda Works building in downtown. We would meet at night, January 8, which was the night of the antique car show and auction on Main Street, an annual event that would draw hundreds of people. As I remembered from experience long past, the old Soda Works had a convenient back door that led directly from the second floor to a narrow tree-shaded alley on the hill behind the Main Street businesses. Hopefully this would give us the cover we needed to leave unnoticed.  
  
We would soon discover that my warnings of discovery were not unfounded.  
  
Song from the broadway play "". Pen muin: Dear one. Amrún nín: My sunrise. 


	23. Ch 23: A New Road or a Secret Gate

Title: The Tale of Marian Chapter: 23/? Rating: PG this chapter. Pairing: OFC/Haldir Genre: Adventure/Romance/perhaps a little Angst Timeline: AU, modern times. Beta: None this chapter. Feedback: Welcomed, begged for, appreciated. Warnings: None. Author's Notes: This is a work in progress. Disclaimer: See Chapter 1 for disclaimer.  
  
THE TALE OF MARIAN  
  
CHAPTER 23 – A New Road or a Secret Gate  
  
8 January  
  
It's only a few hours until our people arrive, and I can hardly  
contain my excitement, and my anxiety. What if no one comes? What  
will we do? It will be too late to start again, too dangerous for the  
elves to stay much longer. I will have failed Haldir and the others.  
I will have failed Jason.  
  
"Too bad I don't approve of the kind of medication I could use right  
now," I told Jason as we finished our final arrangements.  
  
"What you need is a drink," he replied. So we walked from where we  
had hidden the car down to Main Street all twinkling with festive  
lights and busy with crowds of antique-car admirers, and slushed  
across the melting snow that covered the downtown sidewalks to the  
Soda Works with Bruno, two hours early.  
  
The drink isn't helping, but Jason's company is. The bartender's  
company is helping too. He's been a vague acquaintance of mine, as  
bartenders in small towns can be, but I can't remember his name.  
Jason and he are talking as if they were brothers. Jason introduced  
me to the bartender's grandfather, an elderly Chinese gentleman who is  
doing the books at the table next to ours, before the bar fills up.  
His name is Lee Tsan-Yuan. His English is good, but his accent is so  
strong I can barely make out what he says. Jason understands him. He  
says with a meaningful look that they go way back. Knowing Jason,  
this could mean back to when the old man was a baby: A person who  
would have to have known that there was something strange about Jason  
when I didn't, and has kept the secret. I'm not going to drink  
anything else or I might get surly and resentful.  
  
Jason is not very happy with me. I told Matt about us yesterday, but  
not without talking to Jason about doing so first.  
  
Jason agrees with me in theory, but he thinks it's too dangerous. I  
think it's absolutely vital.  
  
I told him that I thought we needed someone on the "outside" to pave  
our way - someone who knew politics and had connections, who could lay  
the foundations for Methentaurond to be an international treasure -  
like a UNESCO World Heritage Site, but much more: A place where  
people could come and study, and take their knowledge back with them,  
to use everywhere. A place that would remain unchanged.  
  
He would go to the United Nations, international environmental groups,  
whoever could accomplish our goal, with a hypothetical situation: How  
could a protected, international environmental treasure be set up on  
the soil inside one country, who would manage it and how, if it were  
to be preserved as a living laboratory? This person would have to  
force the international community to look ahead - what they would  
think would be far ahead - and pass a resolution or international law  
that would include such a plan; a resolution with a way to enforce it.  
Only once such a law was in place would we reveal that such a place  
already existed. Finally we would explain what it was. Only after  
the law was applied to this place would we reveal its location.  
  
Who better to do this than Matt? "I trust Matt completely," I assured  
Jason. Finally I had to remind him that it was my decision, though I  
hated saying it. I'm not the one in danger, after all. But Jason  
finally, reluctantly agreed.  
  
9 January  
  
What a night! I am exhausted with worry and travel, but at least for  
now we can rest. I believe we have lost whoever tried to tail us, at  
least for now. But I can't sleep, so I've taken first watch. Dieter  
said that he should, because of his security roll. I told him what  
was the point when I couldn't sleep anyway? He finally agreed that he  
was tired from traveling (he still had jet-lag from Switzerland). But  
I must wake him in a few hours. Jason is here, too, somewhere outside  
the motel. He says elves don't need as much sleep as mortals. It  
makes me feel safer to know that he's watching. He has much keener  
eyes, and I don't even know what to look for. Dieter seems to know  
instinctively that Jason is capable with things like this, so he  
probably knows that I may not be. I don't know - I've never done it  
before.  
  
Who would have thought we would need to set a watch?  
  
Arianna arrived first last night at the Soda Works, smiling and  
stomping the snow off of her boots on the stairs. She looked like she  
had been outfitted by Niemann-Marcus, but she was dressed  
appropriately.  
  
Yasmin and Dieter followed shortly in turn. Both of them were in well-  
worn boots. At least these two wouldn't be getting blisters.  
  
The upstairs bar was beginning to fill up. Jason ordered pitchers of  
beer from our bartender, who insisted it was "on the house," and we  
moved into the back meeting room.  
  
After a short round of introductions, the door flew open and a short,  
plump, older woman dressed in denim overalls and with neatly trimmed,  
short red hair turning to gray stepped in and surveyed the room with  
lively eyes.  
  
"Sandy!" I exclaimed and got up to give her a hug. Our art historian  
had come. I was beginning to feel better. Four of the eight had  
already arrived.  
  
"Well, don't be shy with the beer there, gorgeous," Sandy said to  
Dieter as she sat down and promptly made everyone around her feel  
comfortable. Dieter served her personally, glowing from her praise.  
He was fairly young, but rather plain looking. Even Bruno got up and  
received a good scratch behind the ears.  
  
The bar was getting livelier. Jason excused himself to go downstairs  
and wait for the others. Dieter got up and followed him as far as the  
door, shutting it behind Jason and stationing himself next to it. He  
was taking his security role seriously, I saw. So did Mason, our  
ecologist, who was a bit taken aback when he opened the door to find  
Dieter planted in front of him. His hesitation was only fleeting,  
however. "Mason Wells," he said briskly, holding out his hand to give  
Dieter what I could only imagine was one of those handshakes that  
would have crushed my knuckles, but not Dieter's. "I was invited," he  
declared, looking Dieter up and down. "And you are. . . ?"  
  
"Dieter Berchtold," Dieter answered. "Security." They held each  
other's grip just a little too long. Neither man blinked. Then Mason  
smiled and stepped around Dieter, looking around the table like the  
man of the hour: blond, fit, confident, and in control of the  
situation. "Mason Wells," he announced again unnecessarily, and  
offered his hand to each of us in turn. I took his hand first,  
telling him how glad I was that he had come. Once the others saw that  
I still had the use of my fingers, they offered theirs as well.  
  
That left Tommy, Roger, and Joel. I looked at my watch. It was ten  
minutes past seven. I began to get nervous again.  
  
At fifteen after seven I heard Roger approaching the door, even over  
the sound of the patrons in the bar outside. "You don't need to  
babysit me all the way, I can see where I'm going," we heard him  
grumble as the door opened and Jason grinned in at us, escorting Roger  
inside and retreating back downstairs.  
  
Finally, Joel showed up fashionably late. Tommy hadn't shown up at  
all.  
  
Jason came back upstairs, shrugged and shook his head. Great. What  
were we going to do without a botanist? Roger couldn't manage all of  
the gardens by himself.  
  
"Maybe Tommy got lost, or he's late," I told everyone. "We'll see,  
but let's get started."  
  
I had a welcome speech all prepared, but I never got to give it.  
  
There was a sharp knock, and we all looked around at each other. I  
nodded to Dieter, and he cracked open the door.  
  
Tsan poked his head in and said nervously, "Man downstairs, look for  
meeting."  
  
"Is his name Tommy Woo?" I asked, hoping our botanist had finally  
come.  
  
"No, grandson say two men, not Chinese. You want they should come  
up?"  
  
"No, Tsan," Jason said and went to the door. "One moment," he added  
and left the room before I could ask him to stop. In a few seconds he  
was back, closing and locking the door behind him.  
  
"They're strangers," he said to me quickly. "One is coming up the  
stairs. I'm afraid the other might be going around the back.  
  
We can't risk using the alley door," Jason said pointedly to Tsan.  
  
"Who could possibly know about us?" I asked Jason.  
  
"Do you want to wait here and ask them?" Jason asked me reasonably,  
then he turned back to Tsan. "Change of plans," he said to the old  
man, and Tsan bowed his head decisively in response.  
  
"Go with Tsan," Jason told me. "I'll meet you at the top. Marian, do  
you have Haldir's cloak with you?"  
  
I nodded, too alarmed to speak. This couldn't be happening!  
  
"Use it," he ordered me, and disappeared out the door.  
  
I ran after him. What was Jason doing? He'd run right into the man  
coming up the stairs!  
  
"No time," Tsan said, and Dieter blocked my way, putting a comforting  
hand on my shoulder. "Our friend will be ok," Tsan said. "Follow me.  
I take dog first, less noise if bark," he added, and accepted Bruno's  
leash from me.  
  
"Follow you where?" Joel said, "We're trapped." The rest of our  
group murmured nervous assent.  
  
"Not trapped," Tsan declared and crossed the room quickly with Bruno  
to lift an old photograph of a mining cap away from the wall. He  
reached behind it. One of the dark wood panels on the wall popped  
open. We looked at him in surprise.  
  
"Good barkeep always have back stair. Come quickly."  
  
Fighting my urge to go after Jason, I forced myself to cross the room  
and stand next to Tsan. If Jason trusted him, then so did I. I just  
wished Jason was here to tell Bruno to keep quiet. "Hurry," I said,  
motioning for everyone to follow him. Mason stepped forward and broke  
our group paralysis, following Tsan past the panel and into the dimly  
lit stairwell beyond. "Arianna, come on," I urged. "Quickly. Go!  
Go!"  
  
Sandy, Dieter and I were the last to go through. Dieter closed the  
panel quietly behind us just as we heard voices in the room. If Tommy  
had been delayed instead of just not coming, we couldn't wait for him  
now. We hadn't even had time to hide the beer, only to grab our  
things and run. Fortunately, we had instructed everyone to drop off  
their hiking gear in a back room of the hotel next to our old office  
earlier in the day. I hoped we'd be able to pick it up, but I didn't  
know if we could risk it now.  
  
We followed the others silently down the narrow wooden stairs. Jason  
had said we were to meet him at the top: The top of what? We were  
going down, not up. And what had he meant when he said for me to use  
Haldir's cloak? Feverishly I tried to think back to everything I  
knew, everything that anyone had ever said to me about the soft,  
indispensable elvish garment. It was warm when one was cold; cool  
when one was hot, I reminded myself uselessly as we stepped off the  
stairs through another door and crowded into a small anteroom that I  
recognized on the first floor. Luckily the door between the bar and  
the room we were in was closed, though the door to the kitchen was  
open. It kept off the rain, I thought to myself. It was made from  
one piece of fabric. It was cold and damp in the anteroom. Just  
beyond, on the opposite side from the door that led back into the bar,  
was a stone arch that opened into a mine shaft hewn out of the  
hillside, strung with bare electric bulbs. The shaft had been used by  
the original Soda Works during the gold rush, to keep the ice for  
their soda from melting and their beer cold. Now it was a curiosity,  
shown to visitors who had heard about it and asked to see it. But I  
also remembered that it dead-ended about a hundred feet ahead.  
Absently I took one of the flashlights that was being passed around  
from a drawer in a waitress's station against the wall. The cloak  
collapsed into a very small bundle. I had I bundled Vanimë's cloak  
into my backpack, back at the hotel. I opened the zipper of my purse  
and felt the fabric of Haldir's cloak with my fingers.  
  
"Ok, now we go into tunnel. Don't worry, not far to go," Tsan  
whispered. But the shaft was a dead end! I screamed inwardly to  
myself. I started to push forward toward the elderly gentleman to  
remind him, but he started off around a bend before I could reach him.  
We hurriedly followed him past damp and dripping tunnel sections  
carved out of the hillside and spaced with darkened hundred and twenty-  
year-old timber braces. The timbers, my architect's subconscious told  
me as we went along, were in surprisingly good condition for their  
age. I hoped they were as strong as they looked. I was beginning to  
feel a little closed in.  
  
About sixty feet into the now-stuffy but still chilly tunnel, Tsan  
turned a corner and stopped. The tunnel was still wide enough for me  
to see him get out a very old, very rusty key. The gate! I thought,  
remembering a branch of the tunnel that was closed off with iron bars.  
I knew that under the entire town and throughout the gold country was  
a spiderweb of interconnecting caves and tunnels that miners had dug.  
They had followed veins of quartz to look for gold after the easier  
pickings of the gravelly stream channels and creek beds had been  
exhausted of loose, or placer, gold. But I had been told that this  
passage had been locked off because it was dangerous, partly caved in,  
and a dead end as well.  
  
"We go up now," Tsan explained shortly as he turned on his flashlight  
and disappeared with a blessedly quiet Bruno into the pitch black.  
  
"Are you sure about this?" Joel called after him softly.  
  
"Yes, leads to street up top. Old, secret way. Map in head;  
grandfather teach," I heard Tsan's voice echo urgently, and everyone  
began to follow. The Irish were the mining experts, I had read, but  
the Chinese had done much of the actual digging. They had been  
extremely efficient miners. Tsan's grandfather might very well have  
been one of them. I looked into the tunnel. It was much narrower and  
lower than the one we were in, with barely room enough for one person  
to walk stooped over. I had seen some tunnel entrances that had only  
been dug a few feet high and just wide enough for a skinny man to  
crawl into. My heart began to pound. I hoped that this didn't lead  
to one of them.  
  
At the gate, Sandy stopped abruptly in front of me.  
  
"I can't do it," she declared. I could hear a familiar tightness in  
her voice. That kind of barely controlled tightness of someone who  
was claustrophobic. I thought I heard a door open, and the sounds of  
the bar beyond filtered down the passage.  
  
I thought I heard footsteps scrape on the gritty floor of the tunnel.  
"Someone's coming," Dieter hissed behind us.  
  
"Sandy, this is the only way," I urged her, completely sympathetic to  
her condition. "I'm claustrophobic, too. We can do this, you and I.  
We can do this together. Tsan said it's not far. Please, Sandy, we  
have to go in," I whispered urgently as we heard definite footfalls  
coming quickly around the corner. I grasped her shaking, sweaty hand  
in my own. To my relief, Sandy took a deep breath and ducked into the  
low, dark passage in the rock. If she could do it, so could I.  
Dieter ducked in quickly behind us and quietly locked the gate. It  
swung shut soundlessly, belying its aged appearance. I turned my  
flashlight on and pointed it up the tunnel. We could see the others  
further ahead. The tunnel went straight for quite a ways, then  
gradually sloped up. Dieter reached out and turned off my flashlight,  
squeezing my hand to stop. I squeezed Sandy's hand, hoping that the  
sudden darkness wouldn't push her into a panic. I wasn't far behind  
her in that regard. Vanimë's cloak, I thought wildly. What had  
Vanimë said about the cloak she had given me? The footsteps were  
coming closer but we had to stop or we would be heard. I could hear  
Sandy breathing hard, trying to hold still. If anyone directed a  
flashlight down the tunnel, they would see us.  
  
A harsh, metallic clanging echoed down the passage. Someone was  
trying the iron gate! I bit my lip, feeling even more trapped than  
before. I didn't want to get stuck, underground. If anything was  
going to happen to me I wanted it to happen in the air, in the open!  
I forced down my rising panic. Now was the time for me to lead, to be  
strong, not to fall apart, but I couldn't think! Then Vanimë's voice  
echoed back to me, almost as if she was in the old gold rush tunnel  
with us: "A cloak of the Galadhrim. It will shield you in need from  
unfriendly eyes."  
  
As quietly as I could I pulled Haldir's cloak out of my purse, moving  
as far as I could to the side and pulling Dieter alongside me. A  
bright beam of light lit up the entrance to the passage and played  
along the rock wall. They had a flashlight - a strong one! In a  
panic I flung the cloak in front of us, not sure what it would  
accomplish but trusting Vanimë at her word when she had told me how  
not to endanger Haldir. I would not endanger these people. Dieter  
grabbed a corner and held it still with me across the opening. I  
thanked God silently that he wasn't asking questions or telling me I  
was being foolish, which was how I felt. I wondered if Sandy felt the  
low ceiling of the passage closing down on her like I did. Hold on, I  
told myself silently. Hold on. Breathe.  
  
The penetrating beam of the flashlight played across the passage, then  
came to rest, glowing directly on the cloak in front of us.  
  
"Shit," I heard a man's voice say. "It's caved in, just like the  
damned bartender said."  
  
"Nobody could have gotten through here," I heard another impatient  
male voice say. "Let's go around back again."  
  
"No, you go now! I have called the police," we heard Tsan's  
grandson's voice say forcefully from somewhere behind the men who had  
spoken, and the light moved on. There was more speech between the  
three that I couldn't understand. Then footsteps retreated down the  
tunnel.  
  
"Can we go now?" Sandy said quietly but frantically from just in front  
of me. "I can't stay in here much longer."  
  
"Neither can I," I assured her, and we went on down the passage.  
"Government men," I heard Dieter growl behind me. Not much farther  
ahead we felt the floor begin to rise, and then it turned a sharp  
corner. Ahead of us was a set of stairs cut into the dark grey rock,  
and Tsan waiting for us. I accepted Bruno's leash from him. "Good  
Bruno," I told him and scratched him gratefully under his furry drool-  
dampened chin. Yuck.  
  
"How much further?" I asked Tsan tightly, eyeing the stairs. The  
tunnel around them was a little higher than the passage we had just  
gone through. A little higher was good. I could deal with a little  
higher.  
  
"Twenty steps, maybe twenty-five. Almost there," Tsan replied. I  
remembered my trip through the cave with Haldir and the other elves,  
and I grabbed Sandy's hand again. We counted together all the way up;  
twenty-two steps. Then there was a wooden landing that we could stand  
up straight in. Ahead of us was another flight of steps, and these  
were wood also, lit by a single bare light bulb at the top. One wall  
was stone, and one was old, discolored plaster. We were out of the  
tunnel, and inside the back of a building. A wave of relief washed  
over me, and my irrational sense that the heavy world above had been  
pushing down on me instantly disappeared.  
  
"Where are we?" Sandy asked. Her voice had lost its near-hysterical  
edge and I concluded that she was feeling the same thing.  
  
"Stone house on hill. Two blocks from my establishment," he said as  
he opened the wooden door off of the top landing to reveal a narrow,  
richly wallpapered hallway with several doors spaced along both sides.  
"Second floor."  
  
Tsan led us down the thickly carpeted front flight of stairs and into  
a reception area with a tall stone fireplace that looked like it had  
once been a living room. The others were waiting there for us. "Now  
offices," he added with a conspiratorial look my way as Jason appeared  
at the front door and closed it quickly behind him. "Was brothel,  
long time ago."  
  
"You mean," I asked, "men would drink in the bar, and then. . .  
Jason! You knew about this," I turned to Jason and said slyly to  
conceal how very, very happy I was to see him. I looked at my watch.  
Barely thirty minutes had passed since I started my non-existent  
speech and Jason had left us. It had seemed like hours.  
  
"Marian, how could you even insinuate that I would ever PAY to favor  
the ladies with my skillful and most indulgent attentions," he  
objected, glancing at Arianna with a hurt puppy-dog look on his face.  
"Besides, that was long before my time." I thought I was going to  
gag.  
  
I asked Jason how he had avoided the two men in the bar, and where he  
had been. He had walked right past them and out the door, he said.  
It was all about attitude. He had not been followed.  
  
"Your chariot awaits," he then announced to me, and opened the front  
door with a flourish.  
  
"Hurry," Tsan warned us. "You not out of woods yet."  
  
"Right back in the woods is where I'd rather be right now," I asserted  
as the others followed Jason out the door. "Thank you, Mr. Lee."  
  
Lee Tsan-Yuan smiled and bowed to me slightly. He told me that Jason  
had chosen well. I wondered how he knew; what he knew. Then I  
noticed a silver ring on his finger, vaguely similar to Jason's. No,  
impossible, I told myself, he was much, much too old. My eyes flew to  
his hair and ears, but he backed into the now-dark room and closed the  
door. I turned to follow the others, only to be confronted  
unexpectedly by a large white van at the curb.  
  
"The Church of Jesus Christ of the Latter Day Saints?!" I read out  
loud in surprise from the big logo on the side of the van. "What the.  
. .? Where did. . . ?  
  
"That's what I said," Yasmin commented with distaste as we climbed  
aboard.  
  
I looked back down the hill at the tops of the familiar old buildings  
on Main Street, wet and glistening in the festive lights strung for  
the antique car show: The four-story brick hotel with its solid iron  
shutters; the old yellow Chamber of Commerce building whose second  
story was said to be haunted by the town hangman; the gallows used to  
be at that same level. How old these buildings had seemed to me only  
a month or two ago - over a century old. But in the eyes of the  
elves, it was only a blink in time. The stately buildings seemed to  
me then to be from a simpler time, less harsh on the land than we were  
today. But were they? The rivers and creeks had been dredged  
indiscriminately in the fever for the shiny yellow metal, gravel and  
rocks cast aside to be carried downstream by the swollen, flooded  
rivers in the winter storms; storms that deposited tons of rocks and  
silt in the valley below, burying farmhouses and their fields, ruining  
crops and livelihoods.  
  
We drove almost all night. If it had not been dark, driving west out  
of the foothills toward Folsom and Sacramento we would have still seen  
mountains of river rock where only the most drought-hardy grasses took  
hold, and an occasional stunted live oak. A hundred years, and still  
nature hadn't been able to repair the damage. At first only industry  
too unsavory to bring closer to the city ventured into this terrain,  
and those had left their own issues to be dealt with. Now new housing  
developments and manufacturing facilities had begun to encroach and  
bury the evidence. New oaks had been planted; new wetlands  
constructed. We were doing better.  
  
Short-term thinking, I thought as we reached the Interstate. That's  
what plagued us. Too many of us reached blindly and eagerly into the  
future with only the immediate discovery, the next development, the  
next million in mind, letting the chips of the future fall where they  
might. Our technologies grew faster than our wisdom to deal with  
their consequences, putting, some said, our very future existence in  
jeopardy.  
  
Yet wasn't it that burning curiosity that made us what we were, that  
drove us to new heights of invention - that mortal urgency to change,  
achieve in the short time that we each had. That was one thing that  
distinguished us from the elves.  
  
We turned north, then south. Once we were convinced that we hadn't  
been followed, we turned north again. By the time we stopped at a  
motel to rest we had barely driven halfway, a fact that only Jason and  
I knew. Under the circumstances, we didn't want to give anyone  
information they didn't need to have.  
  
The events at the Soda Works having shocked us all and driven home the  
seriousness of our situation, we were all pretty quiet. Dieter turned  
on the overhead light for a moment during the drive, examining  
Haldir's cloak closely. "I want one of these," he whispered to me  
reverently.  
  
"I'll put in a good word for you with the lady in charge," I told him.  
  
Some of us were dozing off when I switched places with Jason to drive  
so he could rest. He sat in the front passenger seat next to me, and  
we talked quietly.  
  
He said he had arranged to borrow the van from a gentleman at Tom's  
church, mentioning Tom's name and telling the man he had a "religious  
emergency." The man had given the keys to Jason without question,  
instructing him to drop it off at any LDS church and it would  
eventually be returned. Jason grabbed the van, driven it a few blocks  
to the hotel, and loaded our gear. Had Jason told the man that he was  
a member of their church too, I asked him. "Well. . . " Jason hedged.  
Of course he had.  
  
"I'll bet Jason could charm the rattles off of a rattlesnake if he  
wanted to," Sandy chuckled, and those who weren't asleep laughed too.  
  
"We've been blessed," Roger offered from the next seat back.  
  
"Oh spare me," Yasmin groaned, and told us we were lucky to have  
someone objective along for the ride. It was just a coincidence, she  
added.  
  
"There are no coincidences," Jason said decisively to her with a look  
that was almost as mesmerizing as his brother's. In my rear-view  
mirror I saw that Yasmin sat transfixed for a split second, then shook  
her head as though to clear it.  
  
Some time later Jason exclaimed softly to me, "We are nine."  
  
Yes, I thought, I could count. I just stared ahead while he patted me  
on the knee gleefully as if he had just said something profound.  
  
"There are NINE of us," he repeated. "Don't you see the  
significance?"  
  
I shook my head no, keeping my eyes on the dark freeway in front of  
me.  
  
"My dear, the Fellowship was made up of NINE companions. Lindir must  
have told you the tale."  
  
"What was the Fellowship?" Arianna asked from her seat next to Roger,  
leaning forward.  
  
"Yes, I remember," I answered Jason, then I turned to Arianna. "It is  
recorded in the history of the people we are going to meet that a  
group of nine companions gave up the comforts of home to embark on a  
desperate journey through the wilderness to defeat a great evil, and  
save the world. There was little hope, and great danger, but they  
never gave up. There was, they knew, good in this world that was  
worth fighting for. And, I said, looking fondly at Jason, they had  
friends along the way. They succeeded. You will be told all about  
it, I'm sure."  
  
"Why don't we call ourselves a fellowship, then," Mason said.  
  
"Yes, why not?" Arianna said, and those who roused themselves enough  
from their slumber to respond murmured their agreement.  
  
"Since," Roger concluded smartly, "sr. Jason says there are no  
coincidences."  
  
Looking around at our sleeping companions, I'm impressed at how easily  
these strangers have fallen in together. I'm deeply touched that they  
have believed in me and Jason enough to come, and then to stick with  
us when things got scary. They are all good people. I'm excited  
about what they will do with the things we will show them. They will  
learn about them, pick them apart and analyze them, apply them, find  
new things to do with them, and inevitably, for better or worse, thing  
will change. Who knows what awaits? It will be an exciting journey  
for us all.  
  
It's getting light outside. I had better signal Jason now and wake  
Dieter. He'll surely be offended if I don't.  
  
From the song and poem "The Road Goes Ever On and On", J.R.R. Tolkien (found in both The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings). 


	24. Ch 24: Evening, When the Measure Skips ...

Title: The Tale of Marian

Chapter: 24/?

Rating: PG13 this chapter.

Pairing: OFC/Haldir

Genre: Adventure/Romance/perhaps a little Angst

Timeline: AU, modern times.

Beta: None this chapter.

Feedback: Welcomed, begged for, appreciated.

Warnings: None.

Author's Notes: This is a work in progress.

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1 for disclaimer.

THE TALE OF MARIAN

CHAPTER 24 – "Evening, When the Measure Skips a Beat"

It was the afternoon of January 10, and we had reached the Sea. I could smell and taste it for miles before I saw it in the distance like a shimmering blanket cast over the world. I could feel the cool heaviness of the dampening air, and finally, hear the echo of the sea lions' bark. The gulls weren't far inland, which meant that the weather on the coast would be calm. It was ideal. We arrived to gray waves plying a dark gray glistening shore. Gray-green grass bent to the faint breeze. Pale sunlight filtered through a fine white ocean mist, turning to a pale gray-blue sky to the north, and home.

I can remember every ocean vista I have every seen: The shifting colors, the whirling winds and pounding waves, and the sunlight - the ever-changing, forever entrancing sunlight. More often than ever, I dream of the drumming of the waves on the shore resounding with the beat of my heart, and the gulls' white wings flashing gold and rose in the setting sun. She is like fair Elbereth, the Sea. I remember thinking then that it wouldn't be long until she called my name.

She called in some way to Marian and the other Men as well. As soon as we reached the coast highway we rolled down the windows, stopped the van and got out as if compelled. By unspoken agreement we took off our shoes and ran along the beach, laughing and whooping and cramping our bare toes in the frigid salty water. Bruno, thank the Valar, didn't like going into the water, and Marian rejoiced that we were spared a shaking-dog shower. It was a welcome moment of joy and freedom, breaking the tensions of yesterday and this morning. The stress of our companions had been a heavy presence in the close quarters of the van.

After waking everyone at the motel and setting off, we spent a good long time speculating how someone had found out about us, and what they wanted. I ever-so-gently suggested that perhaps Matt had not been as trustworthy as Marian had thought. She assured me (rather forcefully, I might add) that she had neither told him where we would meet or when we would leave. Perhaps Tommy had done it, Joel pointed out, since he was the only one missing. Poor Tommy Woo, no one knew him so everyone suspected him - but there was no way to tell. It was just as possible, Yasmin said in a superior tone, that it was one of us. That made everyone uncomfortable and quiet and not terribly fond of Yasmin all of a sudden. Tensions in the van mounted. But Marian, dear heart, told Yasmin that was ridiculous - they had all put their faith in her, and she would certainly do the same for each of them. That was when we discovered we could see the ocean, which was fortunate timing.

After getting sand all over inside the van, we drove on up the coast and stopped at a diner. I was looking forward to returning to Methentaurond and enjoying some real food and perhaps a bottle of strong blackberry wine with Haldir, but the diner wasn't too bad. And it was certainly eventful.

We were seated in a pair of booths placed against one of those long plant dividers that, delightfully, had real plants in it. Marian had just come inside from delivering a stack of hamburger patties to Bruno at the curb when he began to bark wildly. I felt it at almost the same time. I looked expectantly at my glass of water. After a moment the surface began to tremble ever so slightly. I turned my attention to the ferns hanging over the side of the planter, which were vibrating gently. I felt the shaking begin in the booth seat. That's when the other seated customers began to notice. Marian and the waitress, both walking toward us, hadn't felt it yet. Next, the silverware started to rattle on the table.

"Earthquake," Joel announced calmly, continuing to eat his dinner. Everything else happened at once:

Arianna jumped up from the table in a panic. I caught her arm and sat her back down. She landed in my lap and stayed there. If she hadn't been so scared it would have been quite nice.

Sandy looked wildly around the diner, possibly taking inventory of any priceless artwork on the walls that might need to be saved. She could have saved herself the trouble - there wasn't any.

Plates and vases began to work their way along the display shelves, and one customer caught a jug as it jumped off of a shelf on its way to the floor. He held it up like a trophy.

Marian and the waitress stopped and stood still part way to our tables. Marian looked up at the ceiling just in case, but there was nothing more threatening than a few low-hanging lamps over our tables. Mason and I had each grabbed hold of one. The waitress stoically held her water pitcher with both hands.

The floor began to shake noticeably now, and the air vibrated with a low, rumbling sound. So did the windows, and the lights. Dieter and Yasmin looked like they were frozen to their chairs, and Mason, lamp in hand, was trying to act more in control of the situation than anyone could be.

A woman somewhere in the diner screamed, and people began to yell advice to each other across the room: "Stand under a door frame!" "Get under the table!" Others (the Californians, I assumed) simply sat or stood and waited. Marian motioned for us all to stay where we were. That was my girl: there was no use in trying to yell over everyone else - it would have made her sound frightened, and she knew it.

Bruno stopped barking and I relaxed. I knew inside, though I don't know how to explain it to you, that this was as bad as it was going to get.

Then it stopped.

"3.5," the man who had caught the jug declared as he put it back on the shelf. "What a ride!"

"6.5, San Francisco," Joel raised his fork and contradicted with a slightly worried frown.

The waitress shook her head. "5.0, in the ocean, San Andreas fault line off of Eureka," she guessed precisely. "I'll bet five bucks on it," she called out to the diner at large.

"Here's five dollars that says 4.0, Mendocino!" Roger challenged her, and slapped his money on the table. "We have earthquakes in Chile too, you know," he said aside to me with a wink.

"You're on," the waitress pointed to Roger, and turned on the overhead TV. Marian walked over and put a comforting hand on Joel's shoulder.

I could have bet and won, but that would hardly have been fair. As it was, I admit that I was a little concerned.

The non-Californians (and non-Chileans), still a bit wild-eyed and unsteady, stared at the gamblers in stunned disbelief. Arianna was still on my lap and didn't seem inclined to move. I wasn't rushing her - I am happy to be accommodating when a lady is in distress.

"Is it over? Will there be another one?" she asked me in a small voice. I shrugged and gave her right hand a comforting rub. She had clamped onto me so tightly she was starting to cut off my circulation.

We waited for the news stations to pick up the event. It didn't take long. Mortals are intent on measuring and analyzing and hypothesizing. You are all really quite intriguing. It had been a 4.5, the reporter said. It was an unexpected location because there were no known fault lines in that area. It was sparsely populated. No damage had been reported. Experts were gathering their gear; scientific investigations would be launched. Helicopters were being dispatched. They would bring us the latest updates, with pictures, direct from the scene. Roger and the waitress put their money back in their pockets. Joel relaxed noticeably. The epicenter shown on the map inset was not far from the coast, as I had felt it would be, uncomfortably near where our path would lead us. Of course, only Marian and I knew that.

"Great," Marian mouthed silently to me.

Though the small town we were in wasn't far from the trailhead, we decided to stay one more night in a motel to avoid the media and their cameras. We did not need to have our pictures in the background on the 10 o'clock news.

i 11 January

A winter storm came in off the ocean tonight. I'm glad we didn't try to set off on foot today - it would have been a miserable start.

Here in the motel, people are starting to argue with each other. It's only natural, considering that each of them, as experts in their fields, are headstrong and opinionated in their own way. They are pushing each others buttons to see what happens. And of course the weather makes for pretty close quarters.

At the same time, they are getting to know each other, discovering those shared values that Jason and I were so careful to choose them for, and tentative friendships are beginning to form.

Finally we were able to have a good long conversation. We had been interrupted at the Soda Works and unable after that to really sit down and start off properly.

Now there were lots of questions and concerns, and I did my best to reassure everyone and give them as much information as I felt I could at this point in our journey. I am beginning to empathize with the position Lindir had been in when we had first met. I am finding myself doing much the same thing with these people as Lindir and Haldir did with me- deciding when and where our group is "ready" to be told certain things. I swear I will never get mad at Lindir and Haldir again for not telling me things until they think I'm ready. And I will protect Jason, no matter what.

I reminded them why we are doing this, what we needed to accomplish. I tried to make them feel again in their hearts the vision of what we could learn. I am convinced that everyone shares my ultimate goals.

I told them that this was the last chance they would have to contact friends or associates or relatives, but to be sure not to give away our location or purpose - they had to stick to their original stories of where they had gone and what they were doing, and to be sure not to use the motel phones or post a letter - that would show a postmark. Before I could tell them that they would have to borrow a cell phone from someone to do this, Mason, Sandy and Yasmin pulled cell phones from their backpacks - cell phones that we had adamantly stated would not be allowed.

I repeated why it was so important not to bring electronics of any kind with us, and that they would have to leave them before we left in the morning. I received instant opposition.

"What if we have an emergency? What if we need a doctor?" Sandy objected nervously.

"I am a doctor," Joel interjected.

"But are you a real doctor? I mean, you're a researcher, aren't you?" Yasmin asked.

"Yes, Joel's a real doctor, and a very good one," I interrupted before Joel could get rude. "And the people we're going to meet have excellent healers. We'll be in good hands."

Then the real questions started: Where, exactly, were we going, and when would we get there? How could we hike in this kind of weather? What were these people like? Were they dangerous? Why did they hide from the rest of us?

"There could be other kinds of emergencies that we'll need the phones for," Yasmin argued. "We don't know these people or their customs. We could do something wrong and be attacked."

"If you were attacked," Jason said lightly, "you wouldn't have time for a cell phone."

"We won't be attacked," I said with a sidelong look at Jason to behave. "We have been invited. These people are aware of our customs, though they may not approve of all of them. They are much too wise and good to resort to violence except in self-defense, which includes defense of their home. That's another reason we need to leave the cell phones behind - they are a danger to them. We can be tracked by using them. It could lead someone straight to them, someone who would misuse and mistreat them and everything they can show us and teach us - someone, maybe, like the two men who tried to follow us; who could still be following us now.

I lived with them for over a month," I said to Yasmin. "I wasn't hurt by them in any way. Just the opposite - I was treated with the utmost kindness and understanding. Jason has lived with them, too. We should look up to them as our role models and our teachers."

"Are you saying that they believe themselves to be morally superior to the rest of us then?" Mason asked defensively.

"They're fallible just like we are," I tried to tell Mason, "but yes, I believe they are deeply moral people. They aren't as tempted as we are by greed and power - that's why we can learn so much from them. They will inspire us.

You all know how "gray" the world is now, as they would call it. Good and evil mingle and are difficult to recognize; even the definition of what is good or evil is unclear, values are different between our different cultures and even between different professions in the same society. It's difficult to know what choices to make. These people see things more clearly than we do. They not only have a long, long history, both spoken and recorded, but they have actually learned from history. They don't repeat their mistakes like we do, from generation to generation.

"I've never studied a culture with THAT good of a collective memory," Yasmin said skeptically. "Are you sure you two haven't just been brainwashed?"

I knew that this question would come from them - wasn't it a question I had asked myself, while I listened to Lindir teach me about the elves? I was afraid I was beginning to sound like a lunatic, but I knew Jason couldn't, and shouldn't, help me. I wasn't sure I knew how to answer Yasmin, except to be as honest as I could.

"When I first met them, listened to them" I said carefully, "I was afraid of exactly that. I kept telling myself that I couldn't believe what they were telling me; that they were trying to brainwash me. I was afraid that they were some kind of crazy cult. But all of my instincts told me that they were who they said they were. I decided to trust my instincts, to go with them and let them show me that what they were telling me was true. And it was true, more so than I could have ever dreamed.

I'm asking you to take that same journey with me. I'm asking you to meet them, listen to them, and to reserve judgement until you see and experience what I have. Then, if you still don't believe it that's ok. But I guarantee you that you will. It will be the experience of a lifetime. You'll be glad beyond measure that you came.

But if you have any reservations, if you're wondering if you really want to come, now is the time to decide."

'Look Marian," Mason said. "I for one want to see this. I've seen your notebooks and I know that there's something intriguing going on here, something unique. You couldn't pay me to give up the chance to be among the first to see it with my own eyes. But we've left our computers, our video cameras, all of our analytical tools except our own brains that would have helped us study and record and prove the reality of what we're going to see."

"Oh come on everyone," Roger urged. "There are those of us who got along just fine before these things were even invented."

"But these phones will be our only contact with the outside world," Mason argued.

"I think that's the point, Mason," Dieter commented dryly.

Mason ignored him. "You have to have some flexibility, Marian. I'm not leaving my cell phone behind."

I heard murmurs of assent from a few of the others.

"I think we should vote on it," Yasmin declared.

They weren't hearing me! They weren't hearing me tell them how dangerous those phones and other things like them could be to the elves. Some of them were scientists, but they weren't hearing me tell them not to change the very place that we were going to study! If I let Mason and a few of the others run over me now, I would lose all of my authority, all of my influence. But if I pushed too hard, I would lose my team altogether.

"This is not a democracy," I said calmly but clearly. The murmuring stopped and eight faces looked at me expectantly. "These people chose me to be your leader because they trusted me to protect them, to honor their needs as well as our own. Our first objective, above any other, should be to do no harm.

I want your opinions, and I need your expertise. I don't mind if you argue with me or with each other, because we all need each other's ideas and it's important that we all understand and respect each other. But in the end, the decisions must be mine.

I know what we are headed into; you don't," I said to Mason. "I know that is making everyone somewhat uncomfortable right now, but for our safety and theirs, I can't tell you yet exactly where we're going. We will, on the other hand, teach you as much as we can about their customs along the way, before we get there. So here are your options. You can hand over your cell phones and any other electronic devices you are carrying to Dieter, and you can come with me and Jason. If you don't, you will have to go home and forget you were ever here or that you know anything about the rest of us.

This also isn't a typical employer/employee relationship," I added carefully. "This will be your last chance to quit and turn back. If you come with us tomorrow, you must be completely committed to the entire four months. It is too dangerous for these peoples' safety for anyone to leave after tomorrow. You have tonight to make up your minds, and I hope you'll decide to continue. We've made a good start. We need you, they need you, and I'm depending on you. All of you."

"You keep calling them "these people," said Arianna. "What do they call themselves?"

I hesitated. What did they call themselves, if not elves? If I told this group right now that "these people" were elves they would run away screaming, and I wouldn't blame them.

"They named themselves Quendi,," Jason rescued me by saying. "It means 'those who speak.'"

I looked around the room at each of them, trying to emphasize how much I was counting on them to stay. No one said another thing. Everyone just looked at me in total silence, and I couldn't tell what anyone was thinking. I felt like I was suffocating. I had to leave the room and get some fresh air.

"I'll leave you alone now if you want to talk it over. I know you have each seen only parts of my notebooks. At eight o'clock I'll spread them all out and you can all see all of them. And we'll tell you as much as we can about them. We'll start tonight.

Thank you all for listening."

And I left the room and came here, by the fireplace in the motel lobby. The rain is pelting the windows across the room in wind-driven gusts. I can't keep my hands from shaking. /i 

I found Marian in the sitting area of the motel lobby looking very upset, and Bruno laying at her feet in front of the fireplace looking very comfortable. I sat down next to Marian and put my arm around her shoulders, being careful to keep my hands in respectable places. Sadly, this was not a good time to goad her. She leaned into me and we sat quietly that way for a while.

Then I took my grandmother's mithril ring off of my finger and held it out to her. I thought that by this time it might be relatively safe to do so, but I was ready to duck just in case. She didn't say anything, but at least she stayed next to me and looked at it.

"Haldir and I wish you to have this," I told her. "And if Orophin was here, he would agree."

"Why?" she asked me tiredly. "You don't need it for anyone to recognize me anymore."

"It is a gift, Marian," I said patiently.

She took it tentatively from my fingers and turned it around so that it sparkled and danced in the light from the fireplace, even though it was just a gas flame. I noticed again, as I had when we first left the house, that she was no longer wearing her wedding band. "Tell me about it," she asked.

"It was commissioned especially for our grandmother by our grandfather, from an apprentice of Fëanor himself."

"The elf lord in Valinor who made the Silmarils?"

"Yes, the very same. It is a betrothal ring. One is given by an elleth and an ellon to each other at a meeting of their families. You would call it an engagement ring. It is designed and made only for this one purpose. After the rings are given, the couple waits a full year until the giving to each other of the gold wedding bands. Then the couple five the betrothal rings back to each other treasure them, never using them for any other, lesser, purpose."

"But this would be a different, lesser purpose, Jason. Would that be right? Why didn't your grandmother keep her betrothal ring? You aren't reconsidering proposing to me after all, are you?" she glanced at me sideways and asked. Ah, her humor was improving.

"I am not really sure," I answered truthfully. "Why she didn't keep it, I mean," I clarified when Marian put her hands on her hips. "Our adar and naneth believe that my grandmother loved her child, our father, so much; that she and grandfather denied tradition and granted it to him. She was told by others that doing so would bring only trouble, but it has ever brought good favor to my family."

"You mean it's a good luck charm?" she teased me.

"Marian, elves do not believe in luck. We believe that some things are simply meant to be. This ring doesn't hold what you would call magic. But I and my brothers would like to think that some of the fea, the spirit, of our grandmother, and perhaps its maker, reside in this ring."

"But it belongs to your family. I know it means a lot to you. It's priceless. It's flawless," she hedged indecisively, turning it around and around. I knew what she was too embarrassed to say to me.

"You are as dear as family to me, meldis, you know this. Haldir has given me leave to speak for him in this as well. No thing, no one but the Creator of all Things is flawless; not even me!" Finally, I was rewarded by a smile. "Do not strive to be perfect, dearest. Only strive to be true to yourself."

"Thank you, Jason," she said then, and hugged me tightly. "You are family to me, too." Hearing her say that to me was the best reward in all of Arda.

"And Haldir. . . he is. . . " she began hesitantly.

I could see she was struggling with one of the deepest of feelings that are granted to both the First and Second Children. I waited for her to tell me.

"Where should we start," she reached out to pat Bruno and asked suddenly, "to tell them about the elves tonight?"

"It is always good to start at the beginning," I suggested. I hoped she would take my subtle hint that I was speaking of not only all of the elves, but one in particular. But I was patient; I knew she would tell me when she was ready.

"Why do you not place the ring on your finger?" I asked when she fumbled to put it back on the chain around her neck.

"I don't know if that will be alright. Will it?" she asked hesitantly. I took the ring from her hand and slipped it onto the middle finger of her left hand. "There," I said. "It is the wearing on the index finger of the right hand that signifies a betrothal."

"I don't understand," Marian said in amazement, holding her hand up in front of me. "It fits me perfectly. How can it fit me? You were wearing it not a moment ago, Jason, and your finger is much larger than mine. The ring was bigger than this when you slipped it over my finger. I know it was!" With each word Marian spoke a little lower and seemed to get a little more nervous. She pulled the ring off, looked at it, then slipped it back on. Then she did it again. I believe she was afraid if she kept it on much longer it would continue to tighten, which of course it would never do. Yet even I was somewhat surprised at how quickly it adjusted to her hand; and I intended to relate the tale to Haldir.

"It is an elvish ring, tithen muinthel," I reassured her in a whisper as a rain-spattered family entered the far side of the lobby accompanied by a strong gust of wind. "It is as I told you. Some things are meant to be."

i 11 Jan. P.S.:

I took Jason's advice and started at the beginning, as Lindir had done for me. I told all I could remember of the Song of the Ainur - the beginning of the world - and of the Valar: Elbereth, Nienna, Manwe, Yavanna, but the others I couldn't remember. Where I faltered, Jason filled in, carefully, as though he was also telling it for the first time. I don't quite know when we will tell them about Jason, but I think we should wait until we are far along the trail, and with at least some of the other elves. I don't want him to be alone and outnumbered. Not that I think our group would endanger him, exactly, on purpose. They would probably just corner him against a tree and nit-pick him with academic questions until he went crazy. Then Joel would want to give him a physical exam, which would probably be the last straw. No, I wasn't about to put sweet Jason through anything like that.

"How interesting," Sandy commented in excitement when we were through. "It's a sort of combination of western religions and myths; Christianity, Greek and Roman mythology. . . the Valar could be the embodiment of the Greek gods, or the Angels."

"Celtic legends, Norse mythology, German heroic literature. . . " Arianna chimed in.

"I don't know, Marian," Yasmin told me skeptically. "Cultures create religions to make themselves feel like they have control over the things they don't understand. It's like the Quendi took every western religious belief they encountered and rolled it into one all-encompassing theology. I don't think they are nearly as advanced and sophisticated as you and Jason think they are."

"Are you saying that anyone who believes in God can't be part of an advanced society, then?" Mason challenged her.

"Come on, Mason, you're a scientist," Yasmin countered. "You're supposed to look for logical explanations, not let your religious beliefs cloud your judgement. "Don't tell me you believe in Angels, now."

"I do believe in God, Yasmin." Mason hedged. "The closer and closer we look at the intricacies of our world, the more convinced I am that it can't have just been some cosmic accident."

"Joel, help me out here," Yasmin said, rolling her eyes.

"No can do," Joel said and stood up like he was about to lecture one of his classes at the university. "There are things that happen in surgery that can't be explained by logic alone. Miracles do happen."

"You only call them that because you can't explain them," she declared in triumph.

Then Roger added thoughtfully that he knew, scientifically, why a seed sprouts, but it was still a small miracle every time it happened. Science, art, beauty, God are one and the same, he insisted, and said that our society tried to compartmentalize and separate them, but ultimately it would find that it couldn't. That was one big reason, he insisted, that the world was in the mess it' was in right now."

"Spoken like an ecologist, Roger," Mason said in approval. " 'There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy' ", he quoted Shakespeare to Yasmin. How un-magical and uninteresting the world would be if we knew everything was explainable in scientific terms."

"If it wasn't January I'd say you were all in "A Midsummer Night's Dream," Yasmin declared. "Next, Mason and Roger will be telling us they believe in fairies and elves and people that turn into donkeys. Oh, and Sasquatch, too, since we're in his neck of the woods."

"Bigfoot? Here?" asked Arianna. "In Hungary we have also the legend of Bigfoot. He is called Grendel there."

"It's just a hoax," said Yasmin, waving her hand dismissively. I thought back to my midnight near-encounter in the fairy ring, and Bruno's feverish barking, and wondered.

"Maybe," said Roger. "but then again, maybe not." He reminded us all that Native American legends spoke of him decades before the hoax that we know about.

I told Yasmin it was appropriate that we were talking about Sasquatch. Local Indian elders said, I related to the group from my childhood memories, that Sasquatch is a messenger from the Creator. He appears in evil times as a warning that man's disrespect for nature has upset the harmony and balance of existence, that we must change our ways or face disaster.

"Perhaps," added Sandy, "all of those fairytales from different cultures that we read about in books and see in paintings - tales of wizards and goblins and elves and giants - maybe there was a time when there was some truth to these things. Maybe that's why they linger in our myths and legends."

"What if the Quendi's version of the beginning of the world came first, not after?" Arianna said quietly, and since she hadn't yet said a thing, we all turned to listen to her. Her face turned a little pink, but she continued. "What if all of the other mythologies and religions came from them instead of the other way around?"

"What would make you think that?" Sandy asked, intrigued.

"Well, their writing, for one," Arianna said shyly, holding up Jason's book that was spread out on the bed with the rest of my notebooks. I"ts structure and symbols are vaguely similar to several different medieval languages, and moreso to their common roots, but it doesn't seem to derive from any of them. It has a freshness, an imagery and beauty that is elemental, unique."

Joel asked, "How can you have picked up on that so fast? You've only seen these writings for a couple of days."

"Jason has been reading with me," Arianna said, and looked to Jason for support. If I didn't know Jason so well I would have worried that his hormones had made him careless. So I worried anyway.

"Jason has picked up the language much faster than I have," I interjected, shooting him a worried glance. I was becoming concerned that Jason seemed unusually quiet and almost sad. "Well, we aren't going to agree on the fate of the world's religions tonight," I turned back to everyone else and said to try and deflect attention away from him.

"No, we're not," Joel agreed. "So why don't we all tell Marian and Jason what we've decided instead."

Dieter got up from his perch on the windowsill and, with military precision, presented me with three cell phones and a pocket planner. "We are all with you Marian," he said proudly, "and with you, Jason." That's when I realized that his is really the only viewpoint on the subject of religion, and many other subjects, that I don't know anything about. He is private in many ways, but this doesn't bother me as it would have with some of the others. He's just the strong, silent type. I feel I can count on him.

"Yes, we are," Yasmin confirmed. "Even though I personally think that you and Jason have been overly influenced by these people, we all share your purpose, and we'll go all the way with you. Especially me, since as an anthropologist I'm also professionally concerned that the rest of you may be too easily attracted to their obviously religion-based culture; I have to be there to keep you all in line."

Mason groaned and pantomimed being sick to his stomach.

Yasmin had a completely serious look on her face, but I saw the little twitch of muscle at the corner of her mouth.

"You all have no idea how much this means to me," I said with relief. "Thank you. Oh, and Yasmin," I told her, "you are a major pain in the ass."

The room erupted in laughter.

"I'll take that as a compliment," Yasmin smiled proudly.

Jason added his thanks, and uncurling himself from his cross-legged position on the floor, gracefully but somewhat more stiffly than usual, he left our motel room. Telling the others that I had to go check on Bruno, I followed him.

I found him outside on the beach, standing in the wind, with Bruno. It was still raining weakly, but it looked like it might stop soon.

"What's wrong?" I asked him, taking his arm and staring at the dark ocean with him.

"It is a grief to me, Marian, this disbelief of Men. The Elves know the Light. We know we are part of it. Your kind does not know, but can only choose to believe or not to believe. I have often asked myself, why this should be so for you."

"That's not exactly true, Jason, at least not for me. I do know," I assured him, squeezing his arm, "but I only knew, I mean really KNEW, after I chose to believe. Even so, it is hard to know which decisions are the right ones."

"A 'leap of faith,' " Jason said, jumping deftly from the sand onto a piece of driftwood and shaking his head. He stared out at the dark booming waves for a moment, waves that I could more hear than see in the surrounding darkness. It was like trying to see into a building through a curtain wall of glass at night when the lights inside the building were out. Then he pivoted back to look at me. "The ways of the Valar are a mystery to us when it comes to the world of Men, but it is clearly meant to be that way for you."

I told him that Yasmin couldn't make that kind of leap yet. I told him not to be sorry for us, that we would find our way. I kissed him on the cheek for good measure. Then I found myself saying the same sort of thing to Jason that Haldir had to me - you will have enough to do to help Haldir with the elves' own journey. We walked arm in arm (and dog in hand) back into the dry calm and warmth of the motel. /i 

From the poem "Evening Without Angels", by Wallace Stevens

meldis = friend

tithen muinthel = little sister


	25. Ch 25: The Light of the Trees

Title: The Tale of Marian

Chapter: 25/?

Rating: PG13 this chapter.

Pairing: OFC/Haldir

Genre: Adventure/Romance/perhaps a little Angst

Timeline: AU, modern times.

Beta: None this chapter.

Feedback: Welcomed, begged for, appreciated.

Warnings: None.

Author's Notes: This is a work in progress.

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1 for disclaimer.

THE TALE OF MARIAN

CHAPTER 25 - The Light of the Trees

i 12 January

We awoke early to a morning that pilots call "socked in." The storm was over and the rain was gone. In its place the morning fog was so thick that it was difficult to see more than ten feet in front of the van. Usually earlier risers that I, it looked, from the number of labeled trucks in front of the diners and motels, like the news media were grounded, waiting for a break in the weather for their cameras and their helicopters. They could be waiting a long, long time - long enough for us to be on our way and starting up the trail before they'd had their breakfast. On this morning, the fog, and perhaps even the Valar, was on our side.

We reached the trailhead without incident. A "friend" of Jason's was waiting to pick up the van. I took in the "oohs" and "ahhs" of our Fellowship as we entered the fog-shrouded forest like a mother showing off her newborn child. Roger was especially appreciative, saying that he had wanted to see the redwoods but had never had the chance. His son and his family had backpacked through them last summer and had told him how magnificent the forest was - but, Roger marveled, no words or photographs could do it justice. It was like medicine for the soul, Joel said in agreement. Indeed, the ancient quiet of the forest lifted my spirits and soothed my worries. In this place, if one stood still, one could almost feel the earth slowly spinning. The only feelings of mine the forest couldn't magically shrink into the greater perspective of the universe were the ones I held for Haldir. In fact, being in this forest again that he was so much a part of only magnified my emotions where he was concerned. I was going back: If all went well, I would see him again in days!

We have stopped somewhat early for the night, even for January. All of us - including Bruno - were relieved to un-shoulder our heavy packs and rest. I am taking things slowly at first; to give those who are new to backpacking time to adjust and to develop a routine for setting up and breaking camp. Drawing from my scouting days, I made up a "kaper chart" and posted it on a tree - what everyone's responsibilities would be tonight and tomorrow morning. The following nights, I told them, their duties would be rotated: cooking, cleaning, starting a fire, latrine-digging, and so on. It was a source of amusement for Mason, Roger, Dieter, and Sandy, all of whom had been scouts or guides in their childhood. I enlisted them to help the others learn to set up tent-like shelters with their ground cloths and rain ponchos. Joel and Arianna had been camping a few times. Yasmin had been, she said in a superior tone, on too many field assignments not to know how to set up her own tent. I put her on latrine duty.

We have met no one on the trail so far. All in all, except for some sore shoulders and blisters, our first day has gone rather smoothly.

/i 

Before we got back in the van Dieter and I walked Marian a short way down the beach and suggested that perhaps we should check everyone's backpacks, just in case someone was still carrying something that could be tracked. She flatly refused, saying it would be an insult to everyone after last night.

Dieter was no happier than I at her response. Since we had asked her, we couldn't very well go behind Marian's back and do it anyway. We shouldn't have asked, Dieter commented hotly. Next time, he wouldn't. He would just do what he knew needed to be done, for her own good. Patience and quickness to anger; loyalty and mutiny combined: Dieter is a mortal of intense contrasts.

Even when I took Marian aside and reminded her that I could look through the packs without anyone realizing it, she refused. She knew I could do this. She hadn't forgotten the wine switch, unfortunately. She hadn't told me this, hadn't even said a thing to me about it since she came back from Tar-Caranorn. I knew she was simply biding her time, waiting until she thought I least suspected it to exact her revenge. Poor Marian, she should have realized that I am much too vigilant an elf for her to succeed.

i 

13 January

I have always had an easy time sketching Jason's portrait, but now I can't seem to get it right. It is certainly not because he is an unwilling subject - quite the contrary. Once he sat for me for two hours. Even when I'm trying to do a candid sketch I might notice part way through that he's holding very still. Jason always knows when someone is looking at him! I think I'm having trouble because suddenly it is so important to me to get it just right: in a few months my best friend, too, will be gone. I change the eyes, the set of the lips, the jaw, but it's still not quite him. Sometimes now, on the trail, I'll take another unsatisfactory drawing of him and try to change it to look like Haldir; try to discover exactly what it is about their countenances that define the differences between them.

I tried again when we rested after lunch today, but the right stroke of the pencil still eluded me.

"The brow is not right," Jason commented over my shoulder. I nearly jumped off of the log I was sitting on, having thought that I was alone.

I replied that the brows were fine - they looked just like his.

"True enough, but you are not drawing me," he whispered in my ear, and walked off through the trees. I don't know how he knew what I was doing. I am embarrassed to have lied to him. I wonder if I should follow him and apologize. I wonder if I should find him and tell him everything. But I can't bring myself to do it, though I know I will spill my guts soon enough. I can't keep secrets from Jason. What will he think of me?

/i 

i 

14 January

We have heard helicopters pass overhead a few times, but the dense green canopy of trees and the weather have shielded us from view. It has begun to rain again. I was hoping that we would avoid bad weather for a few more days. We made slow progress, but the going wasn't too bad, the rain not too heavy. Mason made a cover for our cooking fire out of his rain poncho - it is quite a trick, the hole for the head serving as a chimney. He says he has taken care of five sisters and brothers since he was young - he'll take care of us, too. This comment was issued with a touch of martyrdom, and, I think, caused his efforts to not be received as gratefully as he would have liked. I thanked him and made sure to mention that we would all have opportunities to help each other along the way.

Sandy has found that she does not at all enjoy backpacking, even when it isn't raining. I believe she abhors athletics in general but won't admit it. Yet she is in good spirits and doesn't complain. Instead, she encourages the others. She is also, we discovered tonight, capable of making dehydrated food actually taste palatable.

/i 

i 

15 January

It is still raining, the trail is getting muddy, and spirits are running low. How much farther, they ask me? I consulted with Jason, and we decided to go ahead and tell them that at our current pace we would be there in five more days. We are all getting uncomfortably soggy. Only Bruno still has his tail curled happily over his back, wet as he is. There are too many interesting smells under each new fern or fallen log to be bothered about rain, apparently. How much of the trip is uphill, they ask me? Most of it, I replied to a concert of groans, but not all as steep as today. How much longer will it rain? That I can't tell them. Not much longer, I hope.

What they need, I told Jason quietly when we stopped for lunch, is something to keep them going, something that will keep them excited about reaching the end of our journey. He has just the thing, he says, but I will have to wait until we stop for the day to find out what it is. He has told the others the same thing - which is almost nothing, now isn't it? He drives me crazy, but I admit that I am walking a little faster now myself, out of curiosity.

Later, 15 January

We have had another tremor, stronger than before, and possibly closer - at least that's the way it felt. It was accompanied by a mudslide that took out several smaller trees and brush on a steep slope near the trail. We saw and heard it happen, eerily, like it was in slow motion, ahead of us through the trees. Luckily it was down slope from us, and the trail itself remained stable. Even I was nervous about this one, and still am, though I tried not to show it. There aren't supposed to be earthquakes around here, not inland at any rate. The fault lines run out into the ocean many miles to the south of us. The saturated, loamy soil of the forested hillsides is prone to erosion and mudslides in the winter, with or without earthquakes. I wonder if there is more damage further on, and if our path might be blocked. I am so glad that Jason is with us. If we need to find another path, he will know where to go. Many in our group are still jumpy, and I don't blame them. There's nothing like seeing the earth that you walk on slide away to give you a strong sense of insecurity. They are starting to wonder why in the world we are doing this, but I encourage them as best I can.

/i 

The continuing rain was much more uncomfortable for the other members of our Fellowship than it was for me, and the mudslide had taken a stressful toll on all of us. By the time they had slogged their way close to our destination for the evening they were all quite tired, cold and soaked, muddy, scared, and irritated with both the rain and each other. We were not an impressive sight. Luckily our path would not cross with Lindir's for a few more days, for if he had seen us as we appeared at that moment I would never have heard the end of the humorous songs that he would have penned of the sight. Even Bruno huffed and sat down uncomfortably when I stopped Marian on the trail.

I put my arm around her, and we faced the others. "There is shelter ahead - Quendi shelter," I announced, and winked at Marian when she turned a startled look up at me. "We have been told that along these trails are refuges cleverly concealed from the eyes of travelers such as ourselves. This one only we are familiar with. You will have a chance to see Quendi craftsmanship, and a dry place to sleep. It is nearby. Follow us, if you please."

I ushered Marian off of the trail ahead of me and up the sodden bank. A mere twenty feet of slippery ferns and dripping undergrowth later, I surreptitiously placed Marian's hand on the nearly invisible structure and gave her a moment to recognize what she was touching so that she could show the others. Our Fellowship was satisfyingly amazed that it had been so near and yet so well disguised. Yasmin excitedly examined it inside and out, and Mason found the braiding of the stripped fern fronds that held the small branches arched over the space inside, and started untying them. Mortals. Sometimes they are insufferable.

"Mason, don't!" Marian and Yasmin said in chorus. "Observation first, Mason," Yasmin scolded him. Joel grasped Mason's hand to still his efforts, and shot him a challenging look. For a moment the air stood saturated and yet crackling with the tension that flared between them.

"Mason, I'm sorry but you do need to stop," Marian said gently. Then she said to the group at large, "I understand that this is the first real evidence you've seen besides Jason's book, and that a new discovery brings out the best of scientists here, like Mason, who are driven to understand what is new and exciting. We have a long scientific tradition, or just a human compulsion, of taking things apart, dissecting them, to see how they work. This tradition has helped us gain knowledge, but it has also caused irreparable damage to some of the things we have studied in this way.

Mason, I know you mean well, and I understand your excitement. But Yasmin has stated the crux of our responsibility, as the first to see this culture. Our goal is first to preserve, then to record what we see, and let the Quendi teach us about it. Experiments and investigations can follow, either by us or by others that will follow. There may very well be only one kind of each thing we want to learn about - one shelter, one draught of medicine, one painting, one flower. We cannot afford to lose the knowledge of something forever by altering it. So here and now I am laying down one cardinal rule for all of us: We will not risk destroying something to find out how it works. Not," she said to Mason directly when she saw him wrench his hand away from Joel's grip, "that such is any of our intention, or that we would be at all careless," she smiled at him. "But because what we will see is so precious, and possibly so fragile, that we cannot take the chance."

There were murmurs of agreement and the nodding of heads from most of our group with, I noticed, the exception of Mason and Joel. And I didn't like the way Joel had begun to flirt with Marian. They have not learned to respect her yet, but they will, like I did. Those two would bear watching.

"Shall we get out of the rain now?" Arianna asked, and we all laughed.

I offered to show Mason how to re-weave the fronds, explaining that I had been shown how it was done. The style of weaving and knotting was a lost art to these modern mortals, and we had a small audience, even in the rain. I believe the attention, and the discussion that ensued, repaired some of Mason's resentment at being made an example of by Marian.

Although this shelter was one of the largest along the trail, it was not expansive enough for all of us. Marian and I decided that the others needed a respite from the rain more than we did, so though the shelter was crowded with seven, we made the group as comfortable and dry as possible, extending it a little with ponchos and ground clothes tied over the entrance. After a short search we found one of Marian's favorite hollowed-out trees and settled into her hammock together, with Bruno at our feet.

Marian was shivering, so I pulled her close to keep her warm. I didn't even get a joke about being fresh, which bothered me. I was about to put out a few feelers, so to speak, when she finally spoke.

"Do all elves sleep like this when they are traveling?" she asked.

"Like what?" I replied. "Like lying down?"

"No," she snorted, "close together like this."

"Usually only couples, or family or close friends such as we are," I explained. "But I fear I have assumed too much. Would you prefer that I sleep elsewhere?"

"No, this is very nice," she said, "and warm.

Haldir slept with me like this, on the way back to you," she said so quietly that I could hardly hear her. Ah! This was the opening that I had been awaiting for months.

"I am not surprised," I replied carefully. "My brother is no fool. But now I fear that I am being replaced as the rightful and deserving object of your affections - I am jealous," I complained.

"Oh you are not, Jason. You've hardly made a pass at me since we've left. You've been unnaturally serious and restrained. I fear you will become your brother sooner than later." Did I detect a note of resentment in her voice? I imagined that Haldir must have exerted his restraint with great difficulty.

"Does my serious side not appeal to you, then?" I teased her.

"I didn't know you had one," she shot back. "I've begun to think there is something wrong with you."

I pinched her soundly on the derriere.

"Jason!" she protested, and the hammock swung precariously with her reaction. Bruno shifted against the tree in alarm.

"Is that better?" I asked her.

"Much. Now cut it out," she ordered. "The others will think we're doing something else entirely."

"Well, we could do something else," I purred. "I have a few suggestions."

Silence. This was no good. I wasn't getting anywhere.

"Besides," she said sleepily after I had waited for several excruciatingly long minutes, "there was nothing to be jealous about."

"What, he didn't pinch you?" I asked.

"No. HE was a perfect gentleman."

"Haldir is not the pinching type," I said in defense of my brother. "His attentions are more refined and subtle in nature than mine."

"So are most people's," Marian snorted. "But there were no "attentions." I'm sure he was simply keeping me from being cold so I wouldn't be tired and slow him down the next morning."

"I do not recall it being particularly cold in September," I mused. "Is that when you started dreaming about him?" I delivered this question in the gentlest of tones, but still I held my breath, hoping that I hadn't gone too far.

Marian stiffened. "What makes you think that I do. . . did that?"

"My first clue was the night I moved in with you and you awakened me from the next room calling "Haldir. . . Haldir . . . " in your sleep. Quite rhythmically, as I recall."

Marian groaned and covered her face even though it was dark and she was turned away from me. "Am I that obvious?" she asked.

"Only when you look at him. . . or when you don't look at him," I said and poked her side. "But only a brother and one who knows you well such as I would have noticed."

Marian groaned again. "Are you upset with me?" she asked tensely through her hands, and I could tell that this, and nothing else, had been the crux of her hesitation to tell me about her feelings.

"No, dearest, of course not. I am happy, and joyful, and sad, and very, very concerned about you and my brother." I was loath to tell her that this just wouldn't work out, or the many reasons why. That was Haldir's right and his responsibility. Besides, I was not the Valar. I had no foresight, no mirror in which to divine the future.

"I'm sure you needn't be concerned about Haldir. He has no interest in me. Even if he did, he has to leave just like you do, so it's pointless anyway."

I thought carefully before responding. "There is always a point to love, Marian. It remains to be seen what it is. I consider my brother blessed that one such as you cares so deeply for him. True love is a rare gift."

"It is only a gift to one who welcomes it. I'm nothing but a burden to him. I want to help him, and I want nothing so much as to gain his approval, but he has shown me many times that he does not consider me even adequate for the purpose I've come for, and I am hard put not to agree with him. I am not complaining about Haldir, Jason," she said quickly, "This is simply what is."

How, I thought with hurt in my heart for her, could she be so unaware of Haldir's attraction to her; the yearning that I saw in his eyes? I wanted to tell her how he cared for her, but it was not my place to do so. It almost killed me that I couldn't ease her heartache. I resolved once more that I would have a very serious talk with my brother as soon as we returned. He owed her the knowledge of his regard.

"I've tried not to love him, Jason," she said softly and I could hear the underlying tears in her voice. "I've tried. . . so hard."

"I know, sweetheart," I replied, and squeezed her closer. "But love finds a way to assert itself. Like a small laes in the womb who is ready to greet Arda face to face, it demands life and light and there is no stopping it."

"What am I going to do?" she whispered groggily.

"That is for you to decide, my dear. But since I am an advisor, I will advise you to neither be ashamed of loving him, nor shield from him your regard. Those who are loved should know they are loved. Let him decide whether he welcomes this gift or no: I tell you that you do not yet know the answer. Haldir's hear lies very deep, Marian. Much flows inside that does not appear on the surface unless he wills it so."

"You are deep Jason," Marian declared in a voice muffled by her sleeping bag. "You don't want anyone to know, but you don't fool me for a minute."

"Mmmmm. I must be losing my touch," I worried.

Marian slapped my hand away that had somehow quite innocently found a mildly forbidden location.

"If only," she complained, but she didn't really mean it.

i 

16 January

Finally, the rain has stopped, and we have been able to dry out our things! We awoke to a clean, fresh tree-scented breeze and sunlight dappled through the forest canopy, setting the raindrops and dew on the green leaves around us into sparkles and rainbows dancing on the gently swaying branches and fluttering leaves. If ever there was an enchanted forest, it is Tar-Caranorn on such a morning.

We have started to break apart on the trail. Jason and I take turns leading, but the path is fairly easy to follow so far, so often Joel and Mason forge ahead in spurts, waiting for the rest of us to catch up. It's not that they have forgotten their animosity toward each other yesterday and become friends, but that they are compelled to compete with each other. A couple of alpha-males, Yasmin rolls her eyes and tells me, each jostling for a more powerful position in our Fellowship. Though Arianna, Sandy and Roger appear to be oblivious to it, Yasmin and I have worked largely with men in our professions. We recognize the signs. First Mason questions a few of my small decisions, or something Jason or I have said in our nightly stories about the Quendi. Then he offers an alternative solution to the group at large. Joel, on the other hand, is quite supportive. He offers to help me on and off with my pack, and holds his hand out to help me climb over a rock or a fallen tree on the trail. On the surface he is being a thoughtful gentleman. If I didn't know him better I would be ashamed of myself for thinking anything else of him. But I have dealt with this before - men who, intentionally or not, don't see a woman as qualified to lead better than themselves. So far neither has made any headway gaining any authority over me or each other, but they will keep trying. Meanwhile, I will be firm and sure, at least on the surface, and hold the vision of what can be and how we can make it come to pass out for all to see. I know that I carry the dream for all of us, and I will not allow myself to falter now.

Jason, ever the observant one, has noticed. He says he will reveal his true self if it will help me. Absolutely not, I said to him! How could he even think to do such a thing, with days still to go until we meet Lindir and the other wardens?

Dieter will have nothing to do with Joel and Mason's games. He has settled himself stolidly as the rear guard behind Sandy, shepherding her forward and coming out of his shell enough to trade flirtatious banter back and forth with her. He is actually starting to hold his own against Sandy's expertly placed comments, and doesn't turn red in the face nearly so often now. Sometimes their exchange is clever enough to set us all into fits of laughter. Still, he is ever vigilant of what lies around and behind, trusting to Jason to watch what lies ahead.

Arianna and Roger, quick and spry for all his years, hold the middle with Yasmin. Bruno, of course, wanders wherever he will, sometimes disappearing for an hour at a time. We might hear him bounding through the brush, scattering birds and squirrels in his wake. Then he will crash out from within the trees as if he is being clever, grinning and wagging his tail. I believe he will have trotted at least twice the distance to Methentaurond by the time we get there, dog food pack and all.

Jason has assured me that Haldir will be in Methentaurond when we return. In spite of our differences and the power plays that are occurring, the nine of us make a good group. Everyone takes responsibility for their part, and we work quite well together. The more I get to know the members of our Fellowship, the more I know that Haldir will be satisfied with them. Perhaps he will even be proud of me. That is one of my fondest hopes.

In the meantime, I continue to dream of him. Sometimes the dream is nothing more than a brief glimpse of him; then I awaken. Other times it is much, much more: We are dancing; kissing; making love. Some settings I recognize; others are new and strange to me. Is this a sign of things to come? I tell myself not to hope too much, but I find my steps quickening the closer we come to our destination. Thinking of him on the trail, I have to catch myself and control my pace so as not to tire Sandy or Roger. I can hardly contain my yearning to see him again.

17 January

With each step further into the woods, Jason looks more and more in his element - more graceful, sure- and light-footed. We stumble in the dim light before breaking camp; he does not. His eyesight is keener, his energy more boundless, I think, than all of the rest of us put together. He can start a fire with the wettest wood; no one can understand how he does it. The closer we get to home, the more light-hearted he becomes. His energy and enthusiasm are infectious to even the most sore and weary among us. He is showing himself to be more and more the Rumil only I know him to be. I need to remind him to be careful.

Where has he gone, I wonder? Probably off to find Roger and search for the edible plants that he has promised to show him. They have promised us a surprise for lunch. I can hardly wait: I am envisioning some kind of ugly-looking fungus or, perhaps bitter-tasting leaves. Then again, we are all anxious already to be rid of our dehydrated meals.

17 January - Adam's campsite

Here is the place where Bruno and I shared the night with Adam and his parents. Here is the tree where I strung my hammock and Adam and I spoke of the elves.

I need to see those familiar things, and to know that they are still here, for I am deeply shaken by what has happened. Bruno is gone - lost in an avalanche of rocks and mud: my big dumb dog; my faithful companion; my friend. Maybe if I had been younger and stronger I could have saved him. Maybe if I hadn't been so startled, so fascinated by it, I would have paid more attention to him, and this wouldn't have happened. Jason says that it wasn't my fault, that there was nothing more I could have done without losing my life. But he can't erase my guilt. He doesn't know what I know, wasn't there to see it. I am afraid to show it to him; afraid of what it might be. It would be too risky to show any of the others. Yet I know with certainty that it is not meant for me.

I am desperate to get to Methentaurond as quickly as possible, if only to see that it is still there. I feel Jason's concern as well, but the moon is covered with thick clouds and it is too dangerous for us to travel at night. We must stay here until morning. Jason reassures me that Haldir is well. If he wasn't, Jason says, he would feel it. But what about the others?

I am rambling. I must tell the tale.

The wind had picked up and become bitingly cold by the time Roger and Jason returned with the spoils of their hunt. As I had dreaded, Roger was beaming at a jacket full of mushrooms and decidedly foul-looking shelf fungi, all of which Jason had pointed out to him as edible delicacies. The others were more receptive to this change in diet than I was. Jason knows I hate mushrooms and anything related to them with a passion, and he shot me a humorous look over his shoulder as he helped Roger prepare a fire. Then he looked past me quizzically, and I turned to follow his gaze.

Bruno was sitting a few feet behind me, his head cocked to the side and a strange look on his big furry face. He scratched his ear, then looked at me and whined, shifting uncomfortably. Then he scratched his ear again. I went over to look in his ear to see what was the matter, and to my shock he actually growled at me and nipped my arm. I backed away. He had never done that before.

Jason took my arm and led me away from him and the others. "Don't blame Bruno" he said, "I feel it too. Do you?"

"Feel what?" I asked him. He shook his head.

"I am not sure," he replied, and looked at me in confusion. "The trees are speaking to each other. They are agitated, but by what I do not know. I feel something in the earth - something restless. Do you feel nothing, Marian?"

"I know," I replied. "It's the sickness you feel in Arda, that Callo suffers from. But I can't feel it. I'm sorry."

"No, Marian," Jason said worriedly and stood still for a moment as if he was still listening for something. The wind pulled tendrils of his hair loose around his face as he did, and whipped my shorter hair into my eyes. "It is not that; it is something different. The trees are waiting for something. Something is coming. Soon."

Jason's hair stopped swirling around his face. The forest became instantly, completely still. Not a single bird call, not a solitary sound interrupted the tense, absolute quiet.

"I feel it," I whispered stupidly to Jason, and suddenly I was scared. I looked back at the others. Roger had stood up from the campfire, his knife and treasure-trove of mushrooms forgotten at his side, and was looking around at the trees. Bruno, suddenly hysterical, started barking, growling and whining all at once. The others had stopped what they were doing as well, looking around at the deadly-still forest and each other.

"Earthquake!" Jason shouted suddenly through the stillness. "A large one. Leave your things. Follow me! We must make for the meadow ahead to clear the trees!"

No one stopped to question how Jason knew an earthquake was coming, such was the authority of his voice. He grabbed my arm and we ran for the trail, the others following without question.

"My notebooks!" I protested and pulled back on Jason.

"There is not time!" he ordered, and pushed me ahead of him.

"Bruno!" I called as I climbed up the hill ahead of Jason, but I couldn't see him anywhere.

Jason shouted something in Elvish, but I was too panicked to try to understand. "He can take care of himself, Marian. Hurry!"

The air crackled with energy, and we began to hear a low rumble from somewhere deep in the earth.

"¡Undelé! ¡Undelé!" Roger urged us on from behind, reverting to his native tongue in his distress.

As we ran uphill as best we could, the earth and the understory of vegetation began to shake in a now all-too familiar fashion, but this time it didn't stop. It got much, much worse. The rumbling sound increased in intensity around us like a freight train, accompanied by a high-pitched keening that made us cover our ears as we ran.

The ground jumped and buckled like ocean waves in a storm so that first one, then another of us was thrown off balance and fell to the unstable ground. We helped each other up and pulled each other along, trying to stay upright. The giant trees swayed above and around us like thin saplings in the wind, groaning and creaking in protest. At one point Yasmin was thrown against a tree, but regained her footing and gave me a thumbs-up. It felt like the origins of the quake were under our very feet!

I heard a long, ripping scream that I had only heard once in my life - a redwood somewhere nearby was falling. But where?

"There!" Jason yelled and pointed to the trail above us as if he had read my mind. "Run!" he ordered as the stately tree began to topple in our direction.

Glued to the sight of the top of the massive giant crashing through the boughs of the other trees far above as it arched toward us, Sandy stood frozen behind me. I could see that her brain had shut down. I grabbed her and pulled her forward, slapping her hard on the face. She looked from the tree to me in shock, then nodded, her face flushed bright red. "Don't look up!" I ordered her, and as I pulled her forward she regained the use of her legs and ran with me.

The bulk of one of the tallest of all trees came down faster than I could have imagined, darkening the sky above us and carrying branches and other, smaller trees with it. The rain-soaked soil around its massive trunk cascaded down the hill as the roots tore away from the soil, but we were nearly out of harm's way.

"Dieter!" Arianna screamed as the tree crashed to the ground, breaking and splintering on the uneven hillside just behind Dieter and sending shards of wood, bark and branches into the air all around us. But Dieter ran forward, the faithful rear guard of our Fellowship. Arianna hugged him in relief, the dark form of the fallen tree trunk silhouetting their forms, thicker than Dieter was tall.

The earth continued to heave around us. "Noro lim! Keep going!" Jason warned, slipping into Elvish. "Don't stop until we reach the meadow!" We finally did, breaking through the forest and making for the center of the windy, open meadow, and, we hoped, relative safety.

Then I heard a frantic bark from back the way we had come. Bruno! I ran back into the trees, ignoring Jason's protesting shouts. I couldn't help it. He might have been caught by his pack on something, or he might have been injured. He was my dog, and I was going back for him. Besides, the ground wasn't shaking nearly as much now. I broke back into the trees and jogged deeper into the forest, leaving the wind behind me. The surrounding forest grew still once more.

"Bruno?" I called out, but I didn't hear an answer. No bird, no squirrel chattered, no Bruno barked. It was, I thought with a shiver down my spine, too quiet again.

"Bruno!" I called, and I heard Jason call my name from somewhere behind me. I ran forward once more, climbing over and around debris and fallen logs, and then I saw him. He was looking intently back down the trail, his head cocked to one side, his ears quivering. I couldn't see what he was looking at beyond one of the fallen trees, but he seemed to be fine. Then as I scaled the tree, he growled and barked again, backing away from whatever was on the trial in front of him. All at once I heard a squealing, rending sound that I hope I never hear again. The hillside where Bruno had just been standing began to fall away, taking the remains of the trail with it, and the earth heaved in one final lurch, open in front of my poor dog and toppling more mud and loosened trees into and over the rift. I fell to my hands and knees and closed my eyes against the surreal sight. Then Bruno barked again. I opened my eyes to see that the far side of the narrow rift had risen two to three feet above the side we were on, reaching far into the trees. A bright, impossibly beautiful light that shone golden and yet silver all at once glinted from the side of the newly exposed bank, and Bruno stood before it, barking at it. I crawled forward toward him, shielding my eyes, but as I came near the light softened and I could see it clearly. But what in the world was I looking at? There, embedded in the middle of a tree root as wide as Haldir's arms was a radiant jewel as thick as my fist. Its countless facets sparkled with a warm, welcoming light. I looked up, expecting to see a ray of sunlight striking it from above, but the sky had become cloudy and dim. Still, the jewel glowed and glinted from its center as if it held some inner light, and even in the dim afternoon under the trees, sent sparkling colors like rainbows out from its center, but in colors that had never shown from any rainbow I had seen before. Not even, I thought, colors that I could say or name or remember ever seeing. It was the most purely beautiful thing I have ever seen. Bruno barked at it again, and cocked his head in the other direction.

"Marian!" I heard Jason call behind me, but I found that I didn't want to answer; not just yet.

I reached across the narrow gap in the earth and touched it. It was warm, which was strange, glittering and sparkling impossibly of its own accord. Tinkerbell, I remember whispering to myself, though the comparison was eons from doing the object justice. I tried to grasp it then, thinking that I would never be able to pull it loose, but the root seemed to draw back from it - this must surely have been an illusion to my shocked mind - and it practically fell into my hand. Just as it did, the ground around me and Bruno began to give way. Still on my hands and knees I crawled backward, but I saw Bruno begin to slip. I grabbed for him with my free hand. Then I wedged the jewel into the waistband of my pants and grabbed for him with my other hand. The ground caved way beneath him. Maybe if I had let go of the jewel sooner I could have saved him, but he slipped away right out of my grasp. "Bruno! Bruno!" I called, but he had disappeared in a flurry of mud and rock into the chasm before us.

"Marian!" Jason called again and then he was behind me, pulling me back and away. I slipped the jewel further down into my pants and covered myself with the cloak that I was wearing - Haldir's cloak. Then I collapsed into Jason's arms and cried for my lost dog. I cried for myself because I hadn't saved him, and because I had hidden my discovery from my best friend. What kind of a person would do such things?

/i 

Laes baby


	26. Ch 26: Late Afternoon Wind

Title: The Tale of Marian

Chapter: 26/?

Rating: PG13 this chapter.

Pairing: OFC/Haldir

Genre: Adventure/Romance/perhaps a little Angst

Timeline: AU, modern times.

Beta: None this chapter.

Feedback: Welcomed, appreciated. Constructive criticism always appreciated.

Warnings: None.

Author's Notes: This is a work in progress.

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1 for disclaimer.

THE TALE OF MARIAN

Chapter 26: Late Afternoon Wind

i 

18 January

When the rest of our group rushed back along the trail after Jason and saw the new fault line, Sandy commented that it felt like the epicenter of the quake had been right under us. She wished for a radio so we would know. Her words made me think of the jewel again, and of Jason's assuredness that there are no such things as coincidences. I wonder.

No one wanted to leave the open meadow after the earthquake; me least of all. I don't know how I hurt my ankle, but I can't walk on my right foot. It doesn't matter: losing Bruno hurts a lot more. I keep telling myself that he was just a dog, but he was my buddy. I'll miss his big furry face, and telling him things that I can't tell anyone else, even Jason.

Although the late afternoon light was dim, both Jason and Dieter insisted that we move on into the forest. They were right: we didn't want to be in the open if anyone flew over. And Jason said that the danger of an aftershock or of more trees falling wouldn't be any less tomorrow than it was today. Besides, he said, he felt the worst was over. "You 'feel' that the worst is over?" Mason said, obviously not seeing anything at all scientific or reassuring in Jason's statement.

Joel patched me and Dieter up as best he could - Dieter had a bad scrape on his back from a limb of the falling tree. Then we moved, Joel supporting me on one side until he found a branch that was serviceable as a crutch. I felt much better not having to rely on his almost too personal grip on my waist. They all offered to divide the contents of my backpack among them, but I didn't want anyone to see the jewel that I had slipped inside. Limping along with the backpack was awkward and tiring, but we didn't have far to go before the deep twilight under the trees forced us to stop for the night.

Why do I not share my discovery? It's not that I want it for myself. I have little budget or interest in large precious gems - and surely this must be precious. One can't wear even a moderately large stone or keep it hidden without having bodyguards and fearing for one's life, so it hardly seems worth it. To my thinking no stone is precious unless it is given as a token of love, such as the ring that I now wear on my finger. But I fear that if I show this marvel to everyone there will be jealousy and someone will want to take it for themselves. It would be a temptation. It could tear us apart.

Then there are the elves. My instincts tell me that this jewel is much more than just a finely cut, extremely large precious stone. No diamond shines like this, like it is alive inside. I think it must be elvish, and perhaps, like the lamps of Methentaurond, it holds a star's light. I fear from my memories of Lindir's evening ballads that it may hold much, much more, and that it might even be dangerous to the elves. I must not be rash in what I do with it. It has only made my backpack a few pounds heavier. It is my mind that it weighs most heavily on.

I wish that I had never found it! I need time to think.

We are near Methentaurond, and that knowledge keeps me going in spite of my ankle. Our Fellowship needs to reach there soon: They are weary and frustrated. They have gone through so much on trust alone and they deserve their reward. I need to see if the elves are safe. But most of all, I need to see for myself that Lord Haldir is well. I can think of almost nothing else than seeing him again, so powerful is his presence in my mind and my heart. I know that the others have felt my anticipation and eagerness; it is impossible for me to hide it.

/i 

Jason

Lindir has met us, and what a meeting it was! He had set out looking for us as soon as the tremors had worsened, at my brother's orders, to ensure that we were safe and well. He and the wardens on duty this day made no pretense of hiding their true nature. Shortly after we broke camp the morning after the earthquake they surrounded us on the trail.

Their sudden appearance was most impressive. I, of course, was the only one who noticed they were there before they showed themselves. I don't believe that our Fellowship has yet recovered from the experience, except for Marian and, oddly enough, Roger. Dieter still seems to carry an undue burden of embarrassment over being surprised so easily. Amid the cries of shock and disbelief of being waylaid by eight tall elven archers, I stepped aside and Marian limped anxiously forward to face a suitably intimidating Lindir, whose commanding "Daro!" had frozen our group instantly in place.

Wisely Marian did not speak, but simply touched her hand to her heart and opened her palm outward to him in a greeting of friendship, which he returned solemnly.

"How fare you?" he asked her without preamble, first eyeing Marian's wrapped ankle and the makeshift crutch that Joel had fashioned for her, then quickly taking stock of the condition of the rest of us.

"We are well," Marian replied, ignoring her own injury. "But you, Lindir, and everyone else, was anyone hurt? Was there any damage to Methentaurond?" she asked anxiously. "The ground actually split apart not far down the trail from here!"

"Methentaurond and those who now dwell there are safe," Lindir told her tonelessly and included me in his reply. "What damage there was is being tended to. However, apparently you are not," he commented to Marian and shot me a reproving look.

Joel opened his mouth, probably to protest that he had tended to her himself and Dieter, too, but thought better of it when the imposing warden watching him stepped closer.

"It's not Jason's fault," Marian said. "I asked him not to. Not until you got here." Then she broke into a grin. "Mae govannen, Lindir au Methentaurond. I bring the visitors that you have been expecting. Tell us what we can do to help."

"These people are the Quendi?" Arianna asked Marian, and Marian nodded.

Lindir looked at each of the party before him, then signaled for the wardens to relax their guard. As one they stepped back a pace and sheathed their half-drawn arrows. The members of our Fellowship let out a collective breath of relief. "First," Lindir said in a tone that for the first time held a note of resigned welcome, "Rumil must attend to your injury. And there are as yet unspoken questions to be answered."

"You can say that again," Yasmin said, eyeing the warden nearest her with extreme suspicion.

"Who's Rumil?" Sandy asked, and everyone looked at the wardens to see who would step forward.

"Mae govannen - welcome," Lindir said at last to us all. "Let us sit together," Lindir offered and took Marian's arm to assist her, "and speak of these things." But he gave instructions to Failon as we sat, and Failon ran on down the trail. "I have sent him to examine the place that you tell of, where the earth opened," he explained in English to our group.

After a few moments of awkward silence, Mason was the first to speak, asking the simple question that was probably the foremost in everyone's minds. "What are you?" he said incredulously, staring at Lindir's ears.

"You are the Second Children of Iluvatar - the Followers. We are the First Children. We are Elves," Lindir replied.

To this statement he received exactly the type of response that you might imagine: total disbelief and scorn. I could see the mortals recalling the stories that Marian and I had told them along our way and trying to compare them with what they were seeing before them. Except for Roger, who approached Lindir directly and extended his hand.

"Roger, don't pull on his ears!" Marian said suddenly and looked apologetically at Lindir. "Well, it hurts," she added in embarrassment when everyone turned to stare at her.

"You should know," I couldn't help but insert into the conversation, giving Lindir a very meaningful and humorous look which he quite stubbornly refused to acknowledge.

"So you 'believe' in elves?" Lindir asked Roger with mild interest.

"Why should I not believe in elves when I have seen angels?" Roger replied. "When someone is as old as I am, one prepares to meet one's Maker. Old men and children see and believe many things that young men refuse to allow themselves to see.

My grandson Adam sends greetings to Lindir the elf," Roger said jovially and offered his hand.

"What?!" Marian exclaimed as my elven friends laughed and Lindir took Roger's hand. "You knew all this time?" Then she pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. "Adam promised not to tell anyone," she accused.

"I recall that his exact promise to me was that he would not tell his class or his parents," Lindir reminded her with a conspiratorial look at Roger.

"Don't worry, son," Roger assured Lindir, who was millennia older than he was, "Adam told me and no one else. He would never put you or your amigos here in danger."

"Face it, Marian, you've been had," I said. (This is my favorite mortal slang for such situations. I use it on Haldir whenever I can get away with it, which is unfortunately only once every century or so. It is always well worth the wait.)

"I for one don't believe this "elf" business for an instant," Joel snorted. "You are no more an elf than Dieter here, or Jason," he said, pointing to each of us. "You can get prosthetics like those Mr. Spock ears in any shop on Halloween. What are you trying to pull over on us, and why?" he demanded in a superior tone. The other members of our Fellowship turned to look at each other and at the wardens in discomfort.

Lindir stood and walked over to me, and I rose to clasp his arms in a proper elvish greeting. "Welcome home Rumil, counsellor of Methentaurond," he addressed me warmly in English." It is time, mellon nin."

"Rumil of. . . ?" Sandy asked me in confusion.

I sighed and shared a look with Marian. This was going to be a pivotal moment. Would these mortals accept what we were, or would our carefully chosen group fall apart at the seams?

"There is only one set of prosthetics, and they are mine," I confessed. It was a relief to finally be able to say so. Besides, my "mortal" ears were itching quite badly and I was desperate for the opportunity to remove them. I did so immediately, to assorted gasps and cries. Then I handed them to Joel, who turned them over and examined them critically. Arianna jumped up and backed away from me toward Dieter, who had been eying one of the warden's bows curiously. "I am sorry," I said to them, "that I could not tell you of this sooner."

Roger laughed through the strained silence that followed my words. "Marian, you are not alone in being 'had,' I see." Then he turned to me. "Your knowledge of edible plants; your ability to start fires with the wettest wood and predict earthquakes before they happen; your nimbleness and grace: All of these things were before me all this time," he shook his head in amazement.

"It was my decision," Marian interrupted, as she was wont to do, and took my arm in the unequivocal support that I could count on from her even when she was throwing scathing words in my direction. "Jason - I mean Rumil - offered to tell you before, but I wouldn't let him. It was for his own protection. Arianna, please sit down," she asked, "there's nothing to be afraid of. Look, I didn't believe Lindir at first either."

"Our Hungarian fables are full of tales of elves. Every culture's myths describe such creatures. They appear in secret places, to a child who is lost or to a lonesome traveler in the woods. They are portrayed as wise and good and terrible," Arianna said as if lecturing to a class, so shocked was she by my transformation.

"This is why, Arianna," Marian said excitedly. "They are real! I was only told a few months ago. Before that I didn't know that Jason was really Rumil either, and I wasn't too happy with him when he told me," she complained with a glare in my direction.

"But you called them Quendi, not elves. Why did you lie to us?!" Arianna asked Marian from Dieter's side and then looked at me mistrustfully. I must say that I was a little hurt.

"Would you have believed her?" Lindir asked Arianna bluntly. "We are Quendi, as Rumil told you" he said to her. "But we are now few. Arda - Earth - is no longer in balance, and for the first time we are sickening, and dying." Lindir said to our group. "Marian, Callo is gone; he now waits in the Halls of Mondos," he told her mournfully, and my heart sank though I had known it might be so.

Yasmin broke in. "What do you mean you are sickening and dying 'for the first time'? she challenged Lindir. "Everybody gets sick - everybody dies."

"No, mortal one," Lindir said. "Unlike you we are bound to the life of Arda. We do not die unless killed. We do not sicken - at least not until now. That is why we must no longer tarry here despite our love for Arda.

"Ok, let's say I'll play along, just for kicks," Yasmin said sarcastically, but there was a note of curiosity in her voice. "How old ARE you?"

Lindir thought, his clear eyes searching inward to times long past. "Such things I no longer attend to. But for your enlightenment, I was begotten in the year 2698 of the Second Age. It was a time of peace in the Westlands, before the rise again of the dark lord Sauron; before he was defeated, or so we thought, by the Last Alliance of Men and Elves. We now near the end of the Fifth Age. I have seen. . . . 9,764 years."

Yasmin, for once, was speechless. Either she was entertaining believing Lindir and was trying to absorb what he was saying, or she was convinced he was lying and was so overcome by the audacity of his statement that she couldn't think of a comeback. I'm not sure which it was.

"You said you can't stay. I don't understand. Where are you going?" Arianna asked.

"To Valinor," Lindir replied reverently.

"You are going to heaven," Joel repeated dryly, drawing from the stories that Jason and I had told them on the way.

"We are called home," Lindir said, and his voice and posture hardened. "At great peril to our own lives we offer to you our last hidden stronghold and all the knowledge that we can give before we leave. We do this to heal your people and to heal Arda that we love, for to heal either is to heal both. That is why you were chosen. Do you now refuse a gift so dear?" Lindir loftily challenged each of our group.

At this point Failon returned from the trail, and began urgently reporting in Sindarin what he had seen.

I moved to unwrap Marian's ankle but she asked me to look at Dieter's back first. Though he was quite upset at me ("You let them ambush us," he accused me bitterly and accurately), he removed his shirt. Lindir provided me with some salve that lessened Dieter's bruises and cuts quite nicely. Then I put the same salve on Marian's ankle and healed her sprain as best I could, though Lomion would need to add his more capable skills to complete the repair. At least my dear girl would be able to walk the rest of the way without a crutch.

Joel had taken the most acute interest in these proceedings. As he turned Marian's ankle this way and that with only minor complaints on her part, he became more and more animated. He next rushed to examine Dieter's back and raised the salve that I had used to his nose.

"What is this? How do you make it?" he asked eagerly, holding the small pot out to Lindir. "How did you do that?" he turned and asked me.

Along with me and the wardens, Lindir had become agitated at the news Failon had brought. He concluded the conversation abruptly. "All will be explained, once we have reached Methentaurond," he promised. "The disturbance in Arda has brought Men to Tar-Caranorn. We cannot risk discovery. Come, we must move quickly and quietly."

I bent to lift Marian's backpack for her as she rose, but she shouldered it quickly before I could help her, waving me off. I was taken aback at her refusal. Marian has never waved me off before, even in her most bitingly sarcastic moments. I could find no reason for it, but since the earthquake something in Marian had closed off from me. I wondered briefly if I had done something to offend her. But no, if I offended Marian I was always the first to know it. Perhaps it was the loss of Bruno that had caused her to turn inward. After I had dragged her away from the open wound in the earth and comforted her as best I could, I had started to approach the fault to get a closer look. Marian had called out to me desperately, and had tried to rise to stop me. That was when she had painfully discovered that she had twisted her ankle. I only meant to look, I told her, because I thought I had seen a brilliant light for a moment, and had she seen it too? She said yes, she thought she had seen something, but then it had disappeared. After that she wouldn't look me in the eye for some time. But she had walked closer to me than usual, not suffering me to step far from her reach. Perhaps, I thought, this was simply a mortal way for her to deal with losing one friend - being over-protective but shutting herself off emotionally in case anything should happen to me. I told myself that it would disappear in time.

I relaxed as I saw the others gather their things. They were going to follow us after all.

"How far do we still have to go?" Dieter asked, looking up the trail ahead of us.

Lindir turned to Marian. "The 'front door' or the 'back door'?" he asked her gravely. "The choice is yours alone."

Marian considered this. Some kind of wordless understanding passed between them, though Marian has no telepathic abilities whatsoever.

"I have now walked a mile in your shoes, teacher," she said to him quietly. "The front door, of course," she decided with a bow of her head. Only Lindir and I knew that this meant a longer trip for the sake of keeping the entrance to Methentaurond a secret for a little while longer.

"As you wish, Lady Marian," he replied with a small smile, and her eyes widened with surprise at his use of the title. "We should arrive at your journey's end mid-day tomorrow," he said to our group as a whole.

"But it didn't take that long for you to find us," Mason astutely protested.

"We travel lightly, and at night," Lindir replied enigmatically, and then proved it by striding half out of site up the trail before Mason had taken his first step.

i 

18 January - At Camp.

We reached the Linluin shortly after dark - no swimming, no washing allowed. I've told the others about the fragrant bathing pools in Methentaurond. How glad I'll be to soak in them tomorrow!

I have asked after Lindir himself, and Allinde. I am worried about them both, but especially Allinde, since Lindir told us that dear noble Callo has died. Lindir has assured me that Allinde is adjusting as well as can be expected. Where, I asked him, is Callo's paperweight, the one that he told us to keep away from her? Lindir told me that Callo gave it to her before the end. It rests in a place of honor in her home. She hasn't shown any ill effects from being near it. Lindir and I are as confused as before.

It is Lord Haldir, Lindir told me and Rumil privately (I can finally call Jason by his real name, but it is hard to remember!), who has taken Callo's death the hardest. Lindir confided that Lord Haldir blames himself as much as the world of Men for Callo's death. I may discover, Lindir warned me, our reception into Methentaurond not as friendly as I might wish. I know that a leader must be responsible, but must Haldir take so much blame upon himself? I don't believe he is being fair to himself, and I will tell him so when I see him though he won't listen.

As is their habit, as soon as our dinner was over our guides began to sing ballads of long ago. As before, I feel myself transported. Images float in my mind of the strange lands the wardens sing of even when the tale is told in their own language, ancient and beautiful. The cold breeze that followed us uphill all day has quieted. All is still. I feel even the trees above us bowing closer to listen.

As I look around our circle I see that the others feel the same power, the same magic in their song. I see the looks of wonderment on my companions' faces as the sky grows dark on this moonless winter night and they become aware of the pale auras that emanate from our guides' countenances. Even Rumil has now dropped all pretense of being mortal. "They look like angels from a Renaissance painting," Sandy whispered to me in awe.

Surely there can no longer be doubt in anyone's mind that we are indeed in the company of Elves.

/i 

Lindir's announcement this morning that the mortals must don blindfolds to proceed further was not well received, especially by Dieter. Dieter said emphatically that he must be shown where all of the entrances and exits were if he was expected to provide the security that he was enlisted for. Marian assured him that he would be shown as soon as she was - she herself did not yet know where the exact location of the "front door" was, having been blindfolded and led there herself. She assured him that they had three or four months with the elves to learn all they could before Dieter would be expected to be fully responsible for the safety of Methentaurond. That mollified him somewhat.

Didn't Lindir and Marian and I trust them by now, Mason demanded hotly.

"Such a deeper trust must still be earned," Marian said calmly and firmly, and I could hear the echo of my own brother's voice in her words and in the absolute command in her voice that left no room for further complaint. Haldir had taught her well. I doubted he had told her so. When Marian presented herself as the first to be blindfolded the others looked none too happy about it, but they did not protest. I would have volunteered to be blindfolded as well, but as Dieter pointed out, I already knew the way, now didn't I? I don't think he's finished being mad at me yet.

After leading the mortals a merry way in circles for as many hours as he could safely keep us outside, and pausing several times in the cold wind under the shelter of the trees to listen for intruders, Lindir tired of the ruse and finally brought us to the tunnel in the afternoon. With Marian's icy hand gripping my own like iron and Sandy's gripping Marian's, we all made it through. I remembered Marian's claustrophobia, and like in the underground passage behind the Sodaworks, I was proud of her budding courage and the support she gave to Sandy. By this time Marian had Sandy's undying devotion. I think she would have followed her anywhere.

Once through the passage Lindir ceremoniously instructed the wardens to remove the blindfolds and bowed to our Fellowship with his apologies. Thus the beauty of the fern grotto was revealed step by step to the instantly enchanted mortals for only the second time in all the ages since Arda had created it. I will admit that I had mixed feelings about this. I was proud to share its delicate allure with Marian and with those setting eyes on it for the first time. Yet I felt an unease and fear at the secrets we were imparting to these strangers. How would I feel in the next moments when we reached the mallorn doors graced with the images of Lord Celeborn and our Lady of Light, and opened them to Methentaurond itself? Would they have any inkling of how rare, how precious these panels were to us, not to mention our inner home that lay beyond them? Could they possibly learn to value them as we did? Once the doors were breached, there would be no going back for my brother, no moment in time to reconsider the painful decisions that had brought our Fellowship to this place.

I think Marian read some of my thoughts, for she squeezed my hand and gave me a concerned but reassuring smile. It was a comfort, Marian's smile. It told me how dear this place had become to her in a short time; how dear those inside had become to her - and one in particular, for I saw her eyes dancing with anticipation, casting a brightness and dewiness that could only be for him alone.

Sooner than I hoped we reached the doors themselves, and what the mortals called the optical illusion of the wall that hid them. I would have been amused athow they stepped back and forth and marveled at its cleverness and the skill of those who must have crafted it, if I had not been so reticent about revealing it. Many of the wardens shared my unease, though we were polite, of course, not to show it to our guests.

"Where are the guards?" Dieter asked, first looking up to the windy rim of the canyon and then stepping in again to peer around the enclosure that secreted the doors, its dim walls wavering in the flickering lantern light. "There have to be guards!" he said to me and Lindir, and looked around again in amazement that no one had stopped us. "I can't believe that you don't . . . " he started, but then stopped in mid-sentence, his eyes narrowing at the recess on one side of the door. "Wait," he whispered, and reached out to touch the wall, upon which part of the wall moved, and with one swift motion Orodrin had Dieter's arm behind his back and a long blade at his throat.

"Damn those cloaks!" Dieter swore as the rest of our group gasped and jumped at Orodren's swift flash of movement and at the second guard who now stepped forward from the other side of the doors. Orodren released Dieter and bowed to him and Lindir, laughing merrily. Dieter laughed good-naturedly with him, rubbing his neck. Marian rushed forward and greeted Orodren with a big hug, which set Orodren off balance almost as much as he had done to Dieter. I actually think he blushed. I am beginning to have a grudging respect for Dieter's sharp eyes. Sharp for a Man, that is.

Lindir stepped seriously forward and bade Marian to command the doors.

Surely, Marian gaped at Lindir, it was his right to do so, or mine, and not hers.

"Command them," Lindir insisted, and waving Marian forward, he stepped back.

"If only Bruno were here to spray mud on us all," she smiled sadly to me and Lindir. "Then again, no laundry," she added under her breath. I had no idea what she was murmuring about. She stepped up to the doors and ran a loving hand softly over the weathered wood. She reverently touched my Lord Celeborn's hand high in the mallorn tree, and then my Lady Galadriel's. This, too, comforted me greatly.

No one, elf or mortal, moved or made a sound. The moment was like a silent prayer to the Valar. Then Marian stepped resolutely back, raised her arms out to her sides, palms toward the doors, and closed her eyes. I was afraid that she was trying to remember the words. I said them in my head, willing my voice to reach her mind, if she could but hear me.

"Echuivo-honda mallorn, ad lasto-nin, panno-lin . . . elu . . . au nin!"1 she commanded with such truly horrible pronunciation that Lindir winced and I thought (dare I admit I almost hoped?) that the doors would revolt by locking themselves shut forever.

Slowly, the doors opened. The richly adorned arched corridor of my home stood revealed in the warmth of flickering torches. A large retinue of guards stood at attention, spaced at intervals all the way down each side of the wide passage, in full formal dress. Shields and helmetss and lances shone richly, the product of ages of polishing and care. A regal welcome and, as I am sure was Haldir's intention, an impressive show of force.

Lindir motioned Marian to enter, but she shook her head. "Lindir, I can't enter before you. This is your home. Allow us to follow you and your wardens, with our deepest thanks."

Lindir bowed to Marian and stepped over the marble threshold. "Elvellen, tulo-ammen au honda edhelen," he intoned in a voice laced with deep pride and emotion. "Elf-friends, come into the heart of the Elves. Behold, the last great Halls of Tar-Caranorn."

Marian took a deep breath and led the rest of us inside.

The mortals stepped over the threshold. They were a rag-tag group, walking there between the immaculately groomed sentinels, by contrast our bodies travel-weary, our clothes wrinkled and soiled. Unexpectedly, they were accompanied by a hot gust of wind that ruffled the tapestries and seemed a strange portent to those of us who followed. Whether such wind spoke of good or ill or of neither I could not tell.

As surely as that moment from ages past when the Fellowship of the Ring entered the Naith of Lothlorien and its days became few, I knew with certainty that Haldir was right: Another age was coming to an end. Methentaurond would change; the world would change, and we would at last return Home. It is difficult for us elves to accept, impossible for us not to be deeply saddened, by such inexorable change.

"Late afternoon wind-

Requiem for dying Day

Or Night's advent song?"

-Doho

1Awaken, heart (center) of the mallorn, and hear me, open your heart (feelings) to me!


	27. Ch 27: Wrestle with the Tides of Fate

Title: The Tale of Marian

Chapter: 27/?

Rating: PG13 this chapter.

Pairing: OFC/Haldir

Genre: Adventure/Romance/perhaps a little Angst

Timeline: AU, modern times.

Beta: None this chapter.

Feedback: Welcomed, appreciated. Constructive criticism always appreciated.

Warnings: None.

Author's Notes: This is a work in progress.

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1 for disclaimer.

THE TALE OF MARIAN

Chapter 27 - Wrestle With the Tides of Fate

i 

19 January

I felt such joy upon entering Methentaurond again that I can scarcely put words to it. The awed reaction of our group to the indescribable panorama of the underground halls from the marble balcony, and the exclamations of "You were right," and "I'm sorry I doubted you" made me shake with relief: With Rumil's help, I had done it! Doubts and all, we had gotten them here, all of them!

The welcoming warmth of the caverns in the filtered midday light of the lanterns; the sight of Sandy being stopped by a sentinel as she rushed to the wall to examine a mural with her art-historian's monocle and her resulting protest of "I'm a professional!", barely registered in my head. I stood with Rumil and Lindir while we gave everyone a few moments to assure themselves that they weren't hallucinating. Then, finally, Lindir spoke the words that I had waited to hear for so long: "Lord Haldir awaits you in the Great Hall. Follow me."

"It's a monarchy? How quaint," I heard Yasmin quietly comment behind me to Joel. I took her insult quite personally, and I knew that Lindir had heard her. Of course Lindir was too refined to respond. I walked behind him with my eyes forward and told myself to follow his example, reminding myself that Yasmin was probably just trying to cope. "Stuff it, Yasmin," I heard Joel respond under his breath. That made my smile of anticipation widen considerably.

I vaguely remember following Lindir down the broad marble stair and into the Great Hall with its alabaster-like stone wall glowing on the promontory over the Linluin,, barely remember filing into the elliptical torch- and lantern-lit Hall itself. I waited anxiously while two sentinels disappeared through the arches at the other end. Time hung suspended until he would appear- my world narrowed to just one doorway. All else faced away. What would his welcome be like? Would he judge us harshly for Callo's death, as Lindir had hinted, or would he greet us as warmly as I hoped? Rumil took my arm in silent support. He alone knew how important this moment was to me.

Then in a beat of my heart he appeared in the Hall, and my breath caught in my throat. I had not expected to be so awe-struck by him again, so weak-kneed by the sheer power of his presence. His attire reminded me instantly of the tapestries of Lord Celeborn in the Council Chambers: The shining silver girdle, neckpiece and circlet on his brow were of a lovely design of intertwining leaves and vines. These symbols of his rank emanated with the love that had been put into their making and with a superb level of craftsmanship foreign to our modern eyes. Neither the white and silver-green of his flowing robes nor this silverwork detracted from his fluid silver-gold hair, but only intensified its luster and color. He walked gracefully and imperiously toward us to the center of the Hall. His movements, though partially hidden by his robes, accentuated his tall stature, strength and power. His eyes inspected each of us, piercingly blue and wise and commanding. I knew what the scrutiny of those eyes could do. Each of the people with me would endure his gaze in their own way, as best they could.

Yet there was a troubled look in his countenance that, before leaving, I had only glimpsed in those late night moments on his terrace before he retired. Was it fatigue? Grief or anger at Callo's death? Ill news of his journey? The Lord Haldir I have come to know is not so easily daunted. Something profound clouded his brow and made him appear not cold, but formidable nonetheless. Even Rumil, when I glanced at him, had a puzzled look on his face.

"Muindor, na vedui na bar rinnonen!" Lord Haldir exclaimed, and he and Rumil embraced Some of the tension in his face lifted. I roughly understood his words as a welcome home to his brother, but no interpretation was needed.

Months-long memories of huckleberries and being held in his arms at night flooded my thoughts. Would I receive the warm welcome I so deeply wanted?

For the first time since he entered the room he turned his complete focus on me. I was acutely aware that I was sore and travel-worn and very much a sorry sight. Aloof and noncommittal, his gaze followed Rumil's ring on my finger as I touched my hand to my brow and then to my heart to express my respect to him. When I looked up to meet his eyes I found that his sharp gaze had come to rest instead to the periphery of my face. His head tilted in a slightly curious gesture. What was he looking at? Of course! I had forgotten that my hair was now gray. Well, it served him right – he was the one who had insisted upon honesty in appearances - he, who often, it seemed, disguised himself as a man! I raised my chin and waited for him to say something about my hair or the ring, but he ignored both.

"Híril edhellen," he addressed me formally in that rich, velvety tone that I had so missed and, like everything else about him, thrilled me to the core. But couldn't he at least have called me by name? Instead he acknowledged my salute by somehow managing to simultaneously nod his head just a fraction and stare down his nose at me. "To you alone have we granted passage to these halls accompanied by strangers," he said. Then he swept his gaze across our group. "We have rarely dealt with Men even in your own lands, and then only by necessity and the shielding of our true nature. Yet in these perilous times strangers may still prove themselves friends," he commented, turning to inspect Sandy, who was standing next to me.

"Hír Haldir, may I thank you deeply, and introduce our Fellowship?" I began. He looked at me silently, but I saw a faint flicker of response. Was it surprise at my use of the term "Fellowship"? Amusement? Irritation that I had spoken? I couldn't tell. I decided I would have to either choose my words more carefully or, maybe even better, shut up.

"I'm Sandy. I'm a historian – of art, especially," Sandy offered.

"Ah, we have much to discuss," he responded, and she beamed back at him in relief.

He turned next to Mason, and my companions introduced themselves one by one. When Yasmin introduced herself as the cultural anthropologist, his nose flared almost imperceptively. That was not a good sign.

"You will study us, as you study the Aborigines, or Homo Floriensis," he said, daring her to equate the elves with what we termed primitive cultures.

"That's correct," Yasmin said defensively.

"You will analyze our social structure, dissect our customs, pry into our private habits," he continued in, I thought, an unnecessarily insulted tone. Yasmin stared right back at him. Then thankfully she found enough humility to break his gaze.

"So be it," Lord Haldir said with finality and a hint of sorrow that tugged at my heart.

He turned to Arianna, and spoke to her in what I guessed must have been German. She replied something haltingly in elvish that even I didn't know and then sheepishly held out Rumil's book. Lord Haldir smiled slightly and raised his eyebrows at Rumil, but made no comment.

In spite of Rumil's healing efforts my ankle was starting to throb again. I shifted my weight onto my other foot as inconspicuously as I could, but Haldir picked up on my movement instantly, and frowned. He turned back to Joel.

"Híril Marian will be shown to Lomion at once. You will benefit from assisting him in the tending of your Lady's injury." Joel started to bristle. I'm sure he hadn't "assisted" anyone in a very long time. But possibly sensing he was out of his element, he nodded his agreement.

In spite of having spent time with the elves, such formality was still uncomfortable for my casual California upbringing. And Lord Haldir seemed to be going to great lengths to keep his distance from me. I could feel myself beginning to flush with chagrin at how he was addressing me. Why, it was as if he hardly knew me! I gained a short reprieve by Vanimé's entrance into the Great Hall. Then again, what good could come of it? I wondered if she had heard Lord Haldir refer to me as "Lady Marian." I hoped not.

Vanimé's graceful, ethereal progress across the Hall was cataloged in every detail by the males in our group. Clothed in a long, clinging gown that was both alluring and modest, she played to their attention like the consummate musician that her lithe movements promised she was. Coming to stand proudly behind Lord Haldir's left shoulder, she then deflated them completely with a single sweeping dismissive glance. I wanted so badly to let myself hate her. Instead, grudgingly, jealously, I inwardly saluted her. Biting my lip to keep from smirking, I reminded myself that she was the first elleth these men had ever seen. Then she beamed at Rumil. I had never seen Vanimé beam at anyone.

"Vanimé will take you to Lomion," Lord Haldir indicated to Joel and me. We had come far; we must be weary, he told the rest of us. Lindir would show the rest of us to a place where we could rest and take comfort. Tonight for the first time we would eat with the Elves: In a short time we would be called upon to return to the Great Hall to share a welcoming feast. Following the feast, we could sleep together on our first night. Tomorrow we would each be introduced to a family whose home we would share, so that we would come to know the elves well in the short time we would have together. My talan, he told me, had been kept ready in my absence. I smiled my thanks to him, but he had dismissed us. He turned to Rumil and instructed him to stay – they had many tales to tell each other.

Why hadn't I been asked to stay? I wondered, looking back at them as Vanimé led us away. Didn't I have catching up to do with Haldir too? Rumil gave me one of his patently suggestive winks, which I rolled my eyes at, but Haldir didn't turn to look at me as we left. I suppose that I was feeling neglected because I was so tired – and tired of being dirty. Why couldn't I just go to the blasted bathing pool first? Of course Vanimé caught me pouting.

By the time we reached Lomion's talan I was eternally grateful that we had gone there first. My ankle was killing me. But could I go right on in with Joel and be offered one of Lomion's marvelously large, deeply cushioned chairs? No! Vanimé ushered Joel in and then stopped me outside the door. Joel was so infatuated with the contents of Lomion's shelves that he promptly forgot that he had a patient waiting. What, I thought in dread and irritation, could Vanimé possibly want with me right that very moment? And why couldn't she just stop standing there and staring at me while I stood there in pain, and spit it out?

"I would speak to you after the Feast of Welcome," she said. "Alone." Without waiting for my answer, she turned and walked away down the suspended bridge outside Lomion's talan.

/i 

i 

Finally I escaped somewhat intact from Lomion's protracted lessons to Joel on the treatment of my ankle, which Lomion completely healed. Their attention drifted from me to an animated conversation about some medical theory, the thread of which I lost track of after the first two sentences. Trying to stifle a yawn, I saw my chance and backed out the door with my things. I trust that one of them will get hungry enough sooner or later to remember about dinner. I don't even think they noticed me leave.

I wanted to find Allinde, but first I had to find out where Lindir had taken everyone, and get cleaned up. I walked back along the pathways between the talans, looking for someone to ask. I passed several elves that I had not met before. Finally I found an elleth who was able to tell me that the Followers were now housed in the stables for the night. Apologizing for the strange quarters, she explained that there was no single talan large enough for eight - elvish family units were never so large. The greater number of the talans that had long been empty were being filled by those that now chose to make their way across the Sea with Lord Haldir.

On my way to my talan, I noticed that there are now many more inhabitants of Methentaurond than when I left. The reality that the elves are leaving here forever had not truly come home to me then, but now it has, and I wiped a tear from the corner of my eye as I made my way along. I will sleep with my companions, but first I wanted to drop off an item from my backpack where I knew it would be secure.

Reaching my talan at last, I opened the door slowly, taking in the small, graceful spaces with the now-familiar intertwining wood columns, and the skylight with the lanterns of the caverns above. The wooden floor glowed in the late evening light with a rich patina of age and polish. This is home, I told myself as I dropped my backpack gratefully onto a chair. But where could I hide the jewel so that even Rumil, who considered my private territory his own, wouldn't find it by accident? My eyes drifted to the curtained alcove behind the plant stand. There was really nowhere else. Moving the curtain and opening the wardrobe, I again felt that I was intruding on some past occupant. I chose one of the reed baskets from the top shelf that held a pair of silken slippers, and removed the slippers and the protective cloth around them. There would be enough room for the jewel in the bottom. I could put back the slippers and their wrapping and the jewel would be hidden beneath. Even someone retrieving the slippers might not notice another bundle beneath. Besides, these slippers have not been disturbed in a long, long time. It isn't likely that anyone will remember them or ask for them now.

I dug through the contents of my backpack and pulled out Vanimé's cloak that I had wrapped around the jewel. I unfolded the cloak to check that it hadn't been damaged. Instantly my talan was awash in a brilliant light that spilled up and out of the glass ceiling, brightly illuminating the underside of the wispy clouds in the cavern above. Quickly I wrapped the cloak about it again, Rumil's ring sparkling brightly in response. The elvish fabric wrapped into such a small bundle that when I put the jewel, cloak and all, into the box and placed the wrapped slippers on top, the basket still closed. I set it on the bottom of the wardrobe and replaced the curtain and plant stand. I'll return Vanimé's cloak to her tomorrow.

Some other special items I brought that have so far escaped Rumil's discovery, I am hiding in my dresser drawer.

I need to go to the stables to join my travel-mates and clean up for dinner. I'm taking my wine-colored gown with me, as well as a luxury I did not indulge myself in on my first trip here - makeup. I want to look my best. If Haldir won't talk to me, then I will at least give him something to look at.

/i 

i 

Looking and feeling refreshed, we walked as a group back to the Great Hall. It had been transformed: all of the lanterns were aglow and bedecked with fragrant cedar boughs, and a crackling fire was burning in the large grate at each end of the Hall. Buffet tables were dressed in light blue and silver cloths and laden with food and drink. There were flavored and scented pitchers of water, mulled wine from the cellars, apples and pears. Some tables held poultry dressed with herbs and pine nuts, smoked salmon, fragrant breads, and beautiful green salads from the greenhouses by the lake. Finger foods both familiar and exotic graced every table. Lord Haldir had prepared a spectacular welcome.

Yet it was a casual, comfortable meal. There were no grand speeches, no formalities to endure. We were simply invited to sit among the elves and enjoy their company and their generosity. I had wondered if there would be some who would not welcome us here, who would feel uneasy or resentful of our presence. But the Hall was fuller than I had ever seen it, and there was no outward indication of such feelings from anyone present.

The wine flowed freely, and the evening moved from eating, to talking, and singing, and storytelling. Orodren was present, and Gladrel, and others who I had missed so much. Finally I found Allinde and we hugged each other enthusiastically. She looked radiant and as joyful as ever, to my great relief, and instantly demanded to know what I had done to my hair: She had heard tell that worrying turned the hair of mortals grey. Had I been worrying? I had only worried about her, I said, and Callo.

"I miss him dearly, Marian, but I am fine," she assured me, and I could see that she was. "Will your hair become brown again now?"

'No, this is its real color. And it will get grayer as I get older, dear friend," I explained. "Like Roger's," I said, and pointed him out in the crowd.

"Oh my," Arianna responded with a frown at Roger's fringe of white hair and his shining bald spot.

"But it won't fall out," I said quickly, and her frown disappeared.

I dragged her immediately over to Arianna. They bonded instantly, as I had expected, and I left them deep in a conversation about, predictably, books.

After every greeting I tried to make my way closer to Lord Haldir, but at every turn I seemed to end up farther away from him. Whenever I approached closer, his attention was turned away, or I found another elf that I wanted one of my companions to meet. Always I could see him, standing tall even among the tallest elves. Over and over I tried unsuccessfully to catch his eye.

I could see and hear him make his way among the gathering to each new arrival, greeting them and welcoming them warmly.

"Your expertise will be most valuable," he said to Roger; "We have much here that you can teach to others," he said to Mason.

I felt elegant. I felt pretty. I felt invisible. Not one word of thanks or greeting had he given me since we had arrived in the Hall, only the briefest of acknowledging glances before turning all of his attention to my companions. He had not expressed one sentence-worth of praise or confidence in me, for all my efforts. Yet he was offering it freely to every one of my recruits whom he had only just met.

The experts, the intellectuals, the dreamers he had tasked me to deliver to him were here, the ones who had the real ability to fulfill his purpose, to live up to his expectations, if that was possible for any mortal to do.

It was clear that I was no longer useful. I had never felt so cast aside. I looked around the Hall at the other elves. Lindir was deep in conversation with Sandy, and the others were likewise engaged. Even Rumil was preoccupied with Dieter and Narwen. I had fulfilled my task. I was nonexistent.

Backing into the shadows, I turned to go back to the stables. How could I have been so naïve, to think that I could be anything more to him than this?

I had barely made it a few steps outside and along the path when Haldir's voice stopped me, his tone low and disapproving, a sharp contrast to the enthusiasm he had just shown with the others.

"You are leaving the gathering. Why?"

I did not answer him directly. "I take it you have found those who have come to be suitable?"

If I had been fishing for recognition of my accomplishment, it was not to be had.

"They appear to be. . . adequate. Why are you neglecting your duty by leaving? I will not ask a third time."

"It has become obvious that you do not need me," I replied defensively.

He paused, and his expression clouded in that unreadable, intense manner he has. Unspoken words hovered on his lips, whatever they might have been. How I wish he would speak openly to me of his thoughts. "My needs are not at issue," he said. "You gathered these people; you brought them two weeks into the unknown to arrive in a strange place with strange people. You will not desert them now."

"I. . . " I began, but I really had no excuse. I had been thinking only of myself. It was time, I told myself, to leave my personal needs behind and put the others, and this place, first. Was not this essentially what I had pledged to the Elf Lord that I would do? Still, I could not accept that in order to do so, I had to pretend that my love for this magnificent elf did not exist! And I was not willing to pretend, as this maddening male seemed to insist on doing, that we had not shared some small tokens of intimacy.

"Thank you for welcoming my people so warmly," I said. I didn't even try to keep the hurt out of my voice. "It is a pleasure to see you again too." Then I turned away from him and went back into the Hall.

/i 

i 

"A word, Marian, as I promised," Vanimé called behind me. I had tried to exit the Hall once again, following behind the others with Joel. Lindir had continued the tale of the Silmarillion virtually from where he had stopped when I left. He ended with the announcement that tomorrow night would begin the Lay of Luthien, one of the longest and dearest of the tales of the elves. But tonight the elves had sung their last note, and the last harp string had quavered, echoing, in the warm scented air. Lord Haldir had left with Rumil some time ago and the Hall was almost empty. I had hoped she had forgotten. Joel tactfully wished us good night and walked on. I sighed and stopped at the balcony over the Linluin to hear her out.

"You are distressed. You believe that Lord Haldir ignores you; that you are not even now at the center of his thoughts" she said bluntly when Joel was out of earshot. God forbid Vanimé should be anything but blunt. And why did she have to be so damned perceptive? I didn't want to have this kind of conversation right now – I wanted only the oblivion of sleep.

"You are wrong," she said flatly.

"What do you mean?" I asked tiredly.

"Do you understand nothing?" she responded, tossing her long blond hair in exasperation. "My cousin honors you before your companions. He addresses you formally as his equal, above all other elves and men, and establishes for you the opportunity of acting as such. Why? To help you! And you respond to such favor, not like a lady of stature, but like a young elfling who has been denied her dessert after the evening meal."

Reluctantly I thought back from our arrival until Haldir had confronted me at the feast. She and Haldir were right. I just wasn't sure I could endure being told so again.

"You are adaneth, and you will fulfill your promise," Vanimé said with conviction, and I stepped back in surprise. Her attitude thawed a little, and I felt like I was now being reprimanded by a big sister and not berated by an enemy. "I misjudged you," she said reluctantly, crossing her arms and looking past my shoulder like she hated to admit it. "'Mortals change their allegiances like they change their garments,' I warned him. 'They discard their friends and their bond-mates like they throw away their garbage.' I did not accept Rumil's devotion to you." She shook her head as though the thought of an elf being devoted to a mortal was an unheard-of eccentricity. "Of the three of us I alone believed that you would not return. I feared that you would give Haldir hope and then desert him. I was wrong. Your heart and your word are true."

"Thank you," I told her, still thrown off balance by her revelation. "The three of you?" I asked.

"Of course," she replied in amusement. "Rumil recognized you, but did you think that he alone made the final decision? Haldir would not place so grave a burden on one elf's wisdom, not even Rumil's. Rumil argued valiantly for you."

"He argued with you and Haldir about me?" I asked both in disappointment and with pride in my dearest friend. Had Haldir resisted my choosing so much, for Rumil to have to defend me?

"He argued with me, for the greater part," Vanimé answered my unspoken question and motioned me down the path. Our conversation was over.

/i 

i 

20 January

Deep sleep does wonders for the weary soul. I awoke this morning before dawn, refreshed and in much better spirits than last night. Vanimé's words had made me realize that Haldir had only been doing what he had thought best the night before. I had been too sensitive, too eager. Last night's welcome had not been the place to expect more personal greetings. Still, he had been colder to me than I had expected.

The others still slumbered in the soft, luxurious bedding that had been provided for us in the stables. They deserved to sleep in. I, however, was going to do exactly what Haldir had taught me to do - rise before the others, and be strong. Even in rapt anticipation of resuming my morning swims with a very naked Elf Lord, however, I was still never going to be a "morning person," and I found myself yawning and blinking my way to the river.

When I got there the river was deserted. I took the opportunity to splash water on my face and stretch. Still he did not appear. I reminded myself that he hadn't actually said he would be here. I had just assumed he would be there. I looked around the caverns where some elves were already about, and decided that stripping buck naked alone in the open might not be the most courteous thing to do, especially if one of my companions decided to take a morning walk. Jogging would have to do.

I am finally beginning to see the attraction that some people have for jogging. It cleared my head, and allowed me to expand on the plan I had developed with Lindir last night for our first real day with the elves. A tour is in order. I want everyone to see and experience everything, to become familiar with all of the elves that will be teaching us about themselves and Methentaurond before we break apart into different pursuits. The whole, after all, is greater than the sum of its parts. It is the relationships between things, not just the isolated things themselves, which make up the fabric of life. That's what Mason's studies in ecology ware all about. "Gestalt" is the German word for it that I had learned long ago in architecture school. I'm sure there is an elvish word for it, too, elegant and lovely. I will have to ask what it is.

Perhaps I will ask Lord Haldir, for he has tasked me to meet him on the terrace outside of his study this morning before breakfast, to discuss my plans for the day. I wonder if Rumil will be there.

/i 

i 

20 January - continued

Although I was eager to the opportunity to speak to Lord Haldir alone, I was terribly nervous. He seemed resolved last night to keep me at a distance. I hoped that those barriers would drop once we could speak alone. I longed to build on the connection I had felt growing between us before we parted.

I changed into my rust-colored gown and applied a very subtle amount of makeup. I quickly walked the winding steps and bridges from my talan to his terrace. The cool, ethereal light of the strengthening dawn washed over stone and bark and water and dwelling, revealing an inner world whose daytime was as magical as its glittering night.

Lord Haldir was just emerging from his study. He had braided his hair back from his proud brow in his usual fashion, and he was fastening the last button of a gray suede tunic over his chest and leggings. It was a gray that intensified the blue depths of his eyes. He affected me so that I wondered if I would be capable of speech.

Indicting that I should be seated in one of the cushioned chairs the surrounded a delicately carved table on the terrace, he bade me a formal good morning.

"A new dawn rises in Methentaurond today," he said, sweeping his arm to encompass the lightening firmament of the caverns.

I bowed my head slightly. "Good morning, my lord," I replied with difficulty. Dutifully I sat, pondering the double meaning of his words. They were not so joyous as the songs of the elves that were softly drifting on the air to greet the new day.

He sat opposite me with the table firmly between us - too far away for my tastes. But the table was round, which offered some subtle possibilities. Good lord, I wondered, was I starting to think like Rumil?

"I trust that you and your companions slept well," he began, gracious but distant.

I replied that yes, it had been wonderful to sleep in real, warm beds again. The stable was quite welcoming. But my voice trailed off as I thought first of Bruno, and then, much more guiltily, of Callo.

"I am so sorry, about Callo," I began awkwardly, grasping for something to say. "I was told that you blame yourself as well as me," I said, leaning forward. His brows knitted. "My lord, there was nothing you could have done, or Lomion."

"Lindir speaks too freely. You have that effect on him," Lord Haldir said flatly. "Just as I must, you will come to face the consequences of your decisions, be they pleasant or sorrowful."

"Not even you could have predicted the future," I argued.

"These times are indeed strange," he agreed. "Only yesterday Narwen and Curulas shared betrothal rings," he said. His eyebrows rose as he awaited my predictable response.

"What? They can't stand each other," I protested, jumping to my feet in excitement.

"Apparently they discovered arguing with each other to be quite. . . pleasant," he explained, and looked at me as though he had just thought of something quite strange. I wondered if I was the only one who felt suddenly awkward.

"They will marry only once we have taken the Straight Road to the West," he added, his eyes flickering with some emotion that he quickly subdued.

This was the opening I needed to ask him how he had fared in San Francisco. "Much as I expected," was all he would say, and he rose from his chair, walked past me and leaned against the terrace railing. So this, I thought, must explain the tension that I still felt in his demeanor, I thought.

"You will find the Havens, I know you will," I told him, stepping toward him.

"And how do you 'know' this, adaneth?" he asked with a strange intensity.

"I just. . . feel it," I replied, hoping he wouldn't laugh at me. I looked down to the bundle in my arms. I had forgotten that I had brought it with me.

"Thank you for loaning me your cloak," I told him and pressed it into his hands, "and for the huckleberries," I added. He was so close, but I was too shy to look up at him. Would he even remember?

"You are welcome," he replied smoothly. I looked up then, to find his gaze cool and patient and unrevealing. Was that all he was going to say about it? Had I so comletely misunderstood his gesture?

"I missed you at the river this morning," I ventured, sliding my fingers away from the cloak.

"I am sorry to have disappointed you. I was detained," he replied in a tone that was not very sorry-sounding to me. "It is no longer necessary for you to continue - your penance for your actions in the Linluin has been paid. I release you.:

"But,. . . " I started to object, growing frustrated that he was ignoring the obvious fact that it was his company, not my punishment, that I wished to keep.

"Let us speak now of the days ahead," he interrupted in a business-like manner, and reseated himself at the table. Apparently this was not to be a personal conversation after all. We'll just see, I told myself, and sit down firmly in the chair nearest him on his side of the table.

We spoke of each of my companions and how the elves could best prepare us to preserve and nurture Methentaurond on our own. He made me repeat every detail of the plans I had discussed with Lindir, inserting questions and pointing out weaknesses as I spoke. Though he thoroughly exasperated me by challenging me to justify every decision I had made, and offered no suggestions, imposed no ideas of his own, I knew that my plans had improved greatly from his examination. By the time we were finished, I felt that he knew my companions as well as, if not better than I knew them myself. Still, I was sensitive about some of the questions he had raised about them, and at his sturdy refusal to speak to me on a more personal level. Sensing that he was about to conclude what had turned into an interview, I decided to employ a more direct approach. Before he could dismiss me, I sat forward on the edge of my chair until me knees were almost touching his.

"What did you mean last night that my people are 'adequate?'" I demanded. "They are not only adequate, they are experts in their fields. And beyond that, they are well-rounded, flexible, and they each care passionately about the earth. Joel is fascinated with herbal remedies. Mason has devoted his life to ecology. Roger is. . . Roger is perfect. They are perfect for this, all of them."

"You are satisfied with your choices, then?" he asked me, matching his position with mine. Still, he was much taller than me seated, and much, much more intimidating.

"Yes, yes I am," I said decisively.

"Then why do you seek my approval?" he challenged me, leaning back and crossing his feet casually, making my position completely ineffective. Really, he was insufferably skillful, and he was beginning to make me mad.

"Because," I said in exasperation, "I want you to be happy with them, too. I don't want to have brought someone who you don't want to be here."

"So you would send some of them back?"

"Well, no. I wouldn't want to do that. It would be rude. It wouldn't be safe. . . " I continued, and then I saw the hint of patient amusement on his face.

I folded my arms in front of me. He was maddening. That was the last straw. Incensed, I leaned forward and put my hands on his armrests, giving him a tasteful view of the neckline of my top and looked him square in the eye as best I could manage.

I can only maintain such intense eye contact with him for the briefest of moments, so I spoke quickly. "You like them," I accused him. "Well, except for Yasmin, maybe."

"I find it increasingly difficult and pointless to 'like' mortals," he replied dryly, his eyes grazing my bare skin boldly and then returning my gaze in such a way that I had to stand up and step away to control myself.

"You are pleased with my choices," I repeated, flushing all over in spite of myself and retreating to the balcony.

"You are their leader," he replied. "You must rely on your own judgement, not on mine. The time for that has passed." I caught the briefest of twinkles in the corner of his eye. He knew he had bested me, and now he was rubbing it in. He was seated; I had stood. He was in the position of authority. I chose to ignore this.

"I know you like them, I can see it in your eyes," I declared. "Don't try to deny it!"

"Marian, your stubbornness rivals even the most obstinate dwarf, the acquaintance of whom I have ever had the misfortune to make," he said in a long-suffering voice.

"And who was that? I salute him," I said.

"Gimli son of Gloin," he told me with a groan, "of the Fellowship of the Ring. It appears that the elves are destined to endure not just one, but two Fellowships. Go now, gather your Fellowship and go to breakfast, Marian. I will join you presently."

"Thank you," I told him, and I pushed myself from the railing to go.

"For what do you thank me?" he asked curiously as he stood to dismiss me.

"I thank you for finally saying my name, Haldir."

As the night before, an unreadable expression crossed his face. "My apologies," he said gravely, and bowed deeply to me, "Marian."

Transfixed, I savored the sound of my name on his tongue; the way he mouthed each letter, wistfully, sensually, like the slow tasting of a fine wine. By the time I recovered my senses, I was alone on the terrace.

/i 

"Dear Marian," I overheard my brother sigh in his study after Marian had left. He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes, bracing his hand on the desk. He looked too weary for this time of the morning. Too weary, possibly, to withstand the inquiries that I was about to make of him. Was I embarrassed, to have put myself in a position to overhear such a private moment? Of course not. How was I supposed to advise Haldir properly if I didn't know his deepest thoughts, especially since he wouldn't readily tell me?

"Why do you not tell her that she is dear to you, brother?" I said, stepping from behind a conveniently tall topiary and into his study.

"Rumil, what ever would you do if I moved that bush?" he replied, sounding disappointingly unsurprised.

"Find another convenient spot, as you well know," I replied. "Please answer the question."

Haldir paused, actually considering answering me.

"She must not be distracted from her purpose," he replied reluctantly.

"Marian is not distracted, Haldir, she is in love with you. Surely you have noticed?" I countered, following him as he walked away from me and back out onto the terrace. He sat down heavily and stared out at the caverns.

"I am encouraged that you do not deny you have feelings for her, at least to me," I prompted. "I can see your struggle," I added wisely.

"Can you, Rumil?" he asked, uncharacteristically bitter. "Let me enlighten you, since you will not cease pestering me and I have not the will to deny you this day, as I trust you have already determined." I was caught off balance that it had been so easy. He truly must have been tired.

I leaned on the railing over Haldir's gardens and waited, watching Marian's retreating form.

"I have always accepted that I left hopes of love far behind me, with my youth," he contemplated. "Greater pursuits, more profound interests took the place of that which I had thought passed me by. As time has passed I have tired of this life, Rumil. I have become cynical of many things, disappointed in many things, not the least of which is the world that Men have made of Arda, which Men continually remake, leaving chaos in their wake. Each year has held naught but lessons in loss - of beauty, of nature, of freedom, of life."

I had known that Haldir had been troubled of late, but I had not realized the extent of his unhappiness until this moment. I was shocked.

"But then I saw her," he said in wonder, "rising out of the Linluin like the answer to questions I did not know my heart was asking. She is like a sunrise, Rumil, my sunrise. She has awakened that within me which I thought I could not feel, opened a place inside me that I did not know existed. Now, after so many millenia, I know that the wisest are right - love is the most profound of all things."

He stood up and turned away from me, his eyes searching the cavern ceilings as if for somewhere to anchor his thoughts. "She completes me, Rumil," he confessed, and I ached to see his turmoil.

"Why has such cruelty come upon me! Why her - a mortal! And why now, on the cusp of our journey home, when I must leave her! Some transgression must I have committed for the Valar to visit such a fate upon me. Now that I have found this place in my heart, what will fill the emptiness that will remain when she is gone?"

"I can think of no actions of yours, no intentions that have not been honorable and good. You have been true to the Light, faithful to a fault to the Valar. Surely you have done nothing to displease them, save perhaps playing your harp to them."

Not receiving the smile I expected, I plunged on. "You have been, and are now, a beacon of hope for us. There is a reason that those of us scattered across Arda are gathering here now, Haldir, to you. You have earned their reverence and trust. We know you have sworn to the Lady of Light to bring us home, Haldir, and that you would die rather than fail her, or us. But surely while you are still here. . . " I began.

"No, Rumil. I will not hurt her," he said vehemently. "I will not give her false hope! Already I have encouraged her too much."

"You know the Valar's purposes are rarely understood. The Lady Galadriel herself was humble to admit this, as was Gandalf. You must believe that there is some good design in this. Hope can be foolish, but never false. You know this. At least you used to."

"She is mortal, Rumil," my brother reminded me unnecessarily, shaking his head. "Mortals do not love as we love. She is infatuated now, perhaps, but this shall pass. She will be none the worse for it, lest I encourage her."

"You are wrong, Haldir, and you know it," I told him, sensing I was treading in dangerous waters. "Marian is not infatuated, she loves you deeply. I know her heart better than anyone, and I tell you that in this she will not waver."

"Rumil, she wants that which I cannot give her!"

"Nay, brother, she needs that which you refuse her by choice. Though you week to conceal your regard for her, she senses it within you. She is confused. By your denial you are hurting her, and yourself as well."

"You would have me renounce my vow, and stay, then? You would have me accept the doom of mortality? I tell you that if such a choice was possible, brother, I would make it. But I cannot."

"I would have you tell Marian what you truly feel. But if you will not give her your love, then give her your approval. You are holding her to an impossible standard, and you are hurting her. Take care you do not break her."

"I do not seek to break her, but to make her better than I, after I have gone. She must be challenged. She is strong, but she must yet become stronger."

"She is not a Galadrim, Haldir. Push her too far, and I will not stand by and watch her crumble."

"Are you advising me, Counsellor, or challenging me?" he said, standing and approaching until we were but inches from each other. I was dismayed and surprised at his suddenly threatening demeanor. Never had we come to such words, never confronted each other in such a way. What was becoming of us? I was more torn than I had ever been, caught between my allegiance to my dear brother and my need to protect my dear friend. So I changed the subject. I said to my impossibly stubborn brother, "Haldir, what more did the Lady Galadriel say to you, in the Gray Havens, when she departed? I have told you what she showed me, in my mind, what she said to me about Marian. Did she speak to you of her also? Will you not tell me?"

"She is still below, in the garden, is she not?" Haldir sighed and turned his back on me and the terrace railing. Apparently some of his strength had returned, and I would learn no more from him this day.

"She is wading in the stream, and looking quite lovely doing it, I might add," I told him, leaning over the railing and staring into the misty morning garden. Marian had good legs, and she was showing them off nicely holding her skirts up out of the water. If only Haldir would come over to look. "Wait. . . she is picking up a piece of wood from the middle of the water - she is rescuing a bark beetle from drowning; one of those really big, ugly ones. It is as long as my finger." I have very long fingers, to put this in perspective.

I turned back to Haldir's retreating form on the terrace to speak further to him, but as I gathered my thoughts I was interrupted by a most un-ladylike screech from the garden.

"What is she doing now?" Haldir asked, feigning disinterest but turning back toward me and rubbing his face with his hands.

"I believe she is trying to kill it," I reported, seeing Marian flailing about on the bank.

"Why?"

"It seems to have flown into her hair," I decided as Haldir rejoined me at the railing.

"I have embarked upon a fool's task, Rumil." Just as I was about to protest that teaching the mortals was not foolish, he went on. "I fear the Havens are lost. Methentaurond swells with elves and I must lead them to Cirdan's ships. Still there is no word of him from the watchers on the coast. Time grows short, and I know not what to do."

"Where is the march warden of Lothlorien?" I said worriedly. "Where is Lord Haldir of Methentaurond, my brother? What have you done with him? Come, let us walk to the Hall together. You only lack food in your stomach, muindor."

"I believe that is your stomach that is growling, Rumil, not mine."

"Do not surrender to doubt," I urged him, putting a hand on his shoulder. It was not often that I had the opportunity to comfort him - it was usually the other way around, ever since our childhood. It disturbed me that he seemed so close to despair. "We will find them, or find another way to journey home. There are many ships in the harbors of Men. . . "

"I do not think the Valar would welcome us to their shores in a fleet of stolen ships, Rumil," he said, looking down his nose at me. This was more like my brother.

"Forgive me for becoming angry," he said, and grasped my outstretched arm in his. "I will think upon what you have said about Marian."

"Will you forgive me as well?" I replied.

"You are forgiven," he said, but I did not reply.

"Rumil. . . "

"I think that I will save my forgiveness in trade for the next time I owe you a favor," I replied, crossing my arms.

"Then I will not have long to wait," he scolded with an encouraging measure of his usual wit, and pushed me toward the stairs.

"Seaweed," Longfellow

"Dear brother, at last you have returned home!"

"Lady elf-friend"

"Lord Haldir"


	28. Ch 28: Out of the FryingPan Into the Fi...

Title: The Tale of Marian

Chapter: 28/?

Rating: PG13 this chapter.

Pairing: OFC/Haldir

Genre: Adventure/Romance/perhaps a little Angst

Timeline: AU, modern times.

Beta: None this chapter.

Feedback: Welcomed, appreciated. Constructive criticism always appreciated.

Warnings: None.

Author's Notes: This is a work in progress.

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1 for disclaimer.

THE TALE OF MARIAN

Chapter 28 – Out of the Frying-Pan Into the Fire

i 

20 January

Haldir told me that if I expect my people to be great, then they will be. Our mortal need for power, he instructed me, cannot be denied, but must be used and channeled into what truly provides power - not what so many of us mistakenly believe will give it to us.

Immediately after breakfast I gathered our group and did my best to paint a clear picture of where we will go from here. I told them that I expect them to be great, and that we will do great things. We have become a community, I reminded them, not just individuals with individual needs. We will help each other succeed.

We are here because each of us knows that we have become alienated from the earth, and both Arda itself and our lives are the lesser for it, I preached to the choir. The plants of the Australian desert, I gave an example, are durable and hardy, yet extremely delicate and beautiful. Look around you at Methentaurond, at the talans, the gardens, the way the elves live. Really look. Are they not the same? The elves live richly as a sublime part of nature, not separated from it. What they create is no less than the perfection of the patterns of nature. They have blessed us by bringing us here – they will teach us to thrive, not just survive, by cooperating with the earth - by thinking about tomorrow, not just today. They offer to teach us new things that no others know, and old things that we have forgotten. We must learn and record as much of their irreplaceable knowledge as we can now, while they are here to teach us.

But it is natural to us, I told them, to seek not only knowledge, but power. True power, I told them, comes by living what we know. We will become the heart and soul of Methentaurond. By living what we learn we will create new knowledge, new possibilities. And when we are ready, we will teach others by how we live.

We have the integrity to do what we need to do to change for the better. We can't predict the future, but we can create it, I declared.

As I finished, Rumil smiled at me broadly, and our fellowship clapped their hands. I looked to Haldir, who had remained quietly in the Hall, though I knew I should not have. His expression remained sober. He began to turn to leave. Then, just as I was about to look away in disappointment, he nodded his head the slightest bit. I was elated more by this almost imperceptible movement than by any other's reassurance I could possibly have received. It was the first time he had ever given me the slightest indication of approval, and I absorbed it like a dry and thirsty sponge.

After breakfast Lindir and Rumil guided us through the caverns. As we reached each location - the library, the greenhouses - I introduced the members of our fellowship to the elves that will be their teachers while we still have the advantage of their presence.

Joel, of course, will learn from Lomion. Roger will be with Gladrel in the greenhouses and gardens. Lindir has taken Sandy under his wing, eager to impart as much elvish history and art that he can to her in the short months that we will have together. I both envy and pity her - Lindir can easily overwhelm anyone with information. Not to say that he is at all verbose - he simply holds millenia of fascinating lore and song in his head, and it spills out in great waves that are difficult to absorb in any one sitting. He will doubtless have to repeat himself for Sandy's benefit, but I trust that will not be a burden to him.

Arianna found the opportunity to get to know both Allinde and the library itself - those book-lined walls that disappear into the mysterious heights of the tall ceilings, the warm fireplace and welcoming couches around it - to be heaven on earth.

Dieter will be trained in the defense of Methentaurond by Orodren - they seem to make a good match. I will finally get some moments to spend with Corudring and learn to build and repair the telain and the halls when I am not conferring with Haldir. Yasmin will spend much of her time observing and speaking to all of the elves in the company of Rumil, who knows more about the thoughts and activities of everyone around us than even I wish to contemplate.

It was Mason that I had the most trouble placing with a mentor. As an ecologist, his goal was understanding the relationships between things, so it seemed unwieldy to tie him to any one person. We were both more interested in him studying with all of the people that the others are to work with. An unlikely solution came when Vanimë offered her services as his guide - who better than she, she said logically, could instruct him in what he needed to see and experience? I do not think Mason is disappointed with this arrangement, as he is truly in awe of her. I am also quite satisfied - Vanimë can surely handle Mason's rather aggressive nature quite easily, though how tactful she will be about it remains to be seen.

We had been asked to appear at the lake in the afternoon, but Lindir had been most noncommittal about why. As we approached, we began to hear clinking and clanging, and voices. The sounds reminded me of tuning forks being struck, or knives being sharpened. As we rounded the greenhouses we saw a lively group of elves in the clearing where the grape-harvest has been conducted, but what they were gathered around we couldn't tell. Lindir motioned us forward into the circle. Soon we could see the source of the strange but somehow familiar noises, and we stopped dead in our tracks.

"Someone stop them!" Sandy exclaimed.

"Are they trying to kill each other?" Arianna gasped.

I quickly looked around at the crowd and saw not concern, but rapt interest and excitement.

"I thought they were brothers," Mason said.

"Lindir?" I asked anxiously.

"Be not alarmed. They are preparing to demonstrate their skills for your benefit," Lindir told us calmly. "They have been holding back, but now that you have arrived, they will begin in earnest."

"You call that holding back?" Dieter marveled.

Rumil and Haldir were at the center of the circle of onlookers, barefoot and clothed only in leggings. They were parrying at lightening speed with long, incredibly sharp-looking knives in each hand. These were no practice knives, of that I was sure. They were being given a wide berth by the surrounding crowd. I could barely follow their movements from one second to the next, but it looked as though one misstep or one successful move would terribly injure, if not kill the other outright. It was terrifying to behold.

At some unspoken signal they both stepped back and sheathed their knives in their belts. The circle of elves clapped their hands in approval, then quieted as the two elves approached our group. I tried my very best not to stare at Haldir's bare, muscular chest, tried not to think of reaching out and touching him like my hands ached to. He unsheathed and presented his knives to me hilt-first, and Rumil did the same for Dieter. My fingers trembled slightly as they brushed against his, so electric was his brief touch. I grasped the hilts tightly, expecting the knives to be heavy, but when Haldir released them I felt that they were manageable for my grip and beautifully balanced. They were exquisite, and Dieter gave out a low whistle of approval, handling the blades reverently. The blue steel sparkled along the long curved surfaces, and elvish script was etched along the blade. The leather grips were tooled and smooth with long use. I handed one to Mason, and carefully touched the tip of my finger to the sharp side of the other blade. I was rewarded with an instant flow of blood and a gasp from Sandy, who took the knife extremely carefully from my hand. I looked up at Haldir in consternation. This was surely the sharpest knife I had ever seen. And now they were going to begin in earnest?

The elf lord's eyes twinkled. "My friends, you will need to learn to defend yourselves." Haldir repeated what we had discussed that morning, but I hadn't quite expected this. "Until this place is made known to the world, Dieter cannot of himself protect all of you. He will need your assistance," he said, and then nodded to me to continue.

I explained that Lord Haldir has arranged for us each to spend a short part of each morning with Dieter and an individual trainer.

Arianna said that no one knew we were here. I reminded our group of the two

men who followed us from the bar, and that Tommy Woo, one of our group, did not join us. I cautioned them that though the march wardens guarded their borders with skill and we might feel safe now, we couldn't be sure that we had arrived undetected. We needed to guard against any contingency.

Dieter declared in approval that I had spoken like a warrior.

"Heed Hiril Marian's words," Lord Haldir said to us gently but firmly. "You will all need to depend on each other."

Then collecting their knives from us, Haldir and Rumil strode back to the center of the clearing. Bowing to each other but never lowering their eyes from their opponent, they straightened and raised their knives to their brows in salute. Each began to test the other's readiness, circling like birds of prey, muscles tensed to spring at any unexpected moment. Would I be able to watch this?

From somewhere nearby Allinde slipped next to me and took my hand. "Be not afraid, Marian," she whispered excitedly. "They are too familiar with each other's ways to truly harm each other." I squeezed her hand in gratitude, wondering what ghastly range of possible injuries 'truly' might not apply to.

"A wager, my lord?" Rumil proposed as they continued to circle, and the crowd voiced their approval.

"What do you offer, Counsellor?" Lord Haldir challenged, making an initial lunge that Rumil easily sidestepped.

"A favor of your choice," Rumil replied, as they circled the opposite direction..

"One favor I have already laid claim to," Haldir protested.

Rumil stopped to consider this. Twirling a knife, he looked straight at me.

"A secret, then: A secret of Marian's," he said with a sly smile and an all-too familiar tone that meant trouble. What did Rumil know, I wondered?

"'Tis a serious thing, Rumil, to break a confidence," Haldir scolded. "Does the lady give you her leave?"

Before I could shout "NO!", Rumil continued, holding out his hand for my supposed silence. "T'was not a confidence given, but a secret discovered. Do you wish to know what she has brought here, hidden in her backpack?"

My jaw dropped in disbelief. He couldn't possibly know about the jewel, could he? I had guarded my backpack religiously since I had found it. My companions eyed me suspiciously. I had told them to leave their electronic devices behind, and now they knew that I had brought something hidden. Thanks to Rumil I was now in danger of losing their trust completely. The elves on each side of us craned their necks to look at me too. What was Rumil trying to do?

Haldir turned toward me and looked me up and down speculatively. I put my hands on my hips. He wouldn't. He couldn't.

"She looks decidedly guilty," he said with a pompous smirk, and the elves nearby laughed. "It is a worthy wager. And in return?"

"A secret of your own, brother: None other than that which we discussed earlier."

"That would not be an even wager, Rumil," Haldir warned seriously, and I wondered what they were talking about. So must others have wondered, for a murmur of interest floated through the onlookers.

"How do you know it would not be even?" Rumil teased. "No matter, it is my only offer."

Haldir looked reluctant to me, but he taunted Rumil back: "Very well, I accept your wager - but only because I will be the victor."

"Them's fightin' words, Rumil," Dieter encouraged in a very bad Swiss effort at an American cowboy accent. The crowd voiced its approval, and pushed forward in anticipation.

I leaned toward Lindir and asked him how often Haldir had lost to Rumil.

"Only once or twice in my memory, Marian, though Rumil is a formidable opponent," he replied. I was almost afraid to consider how long Lindir's memory might be. "And he looks as though he would dearly love to know whatever it is that Haldir has withheld from him. Still, I would be prepared to reveal my secret," he added with a speculative smile.

The contest between Haldir and Rumil was both fierce and sublimely elegant, like a choreographed dance of impossibly complex speed and skill and power. I was afraid to watch, both for the obvious danger and because I was terrified that Rumil would lose and I would have to show Haldir the very thing that I did not dare reveal. Yet, I was so fascinated that I couldn't tear my eyes away. The crowd gasped and cried out with me at every knife stroke that missed by a hair's breadth, and every unexpected lunge that looked like it was sure to hit its mark until an almost invisibly quick move by the other avoided certain injury. But I will admit that watching Haldir and Rumil challenge each other physically and mentally fascinated me on the most primal female level. They were both so terribly beautiful, but it was Haldir that my heart and body responded to. His very presence set me on fire whenever he was near, but I had never seen him like this. My eyes locked on every flex and extension of the Elf Lord's powerful and expertly controlled muscles, every shift in his focused, predatory expression, his explosive breath at a physically challenging move, his unique aura of raw masculinity. . . More than once I found myself breathing too heavily and had to calm myself before someone nearby noticed.

Their skills were almost equal, but it became clear as we continued to watch that Rumil was losing. What was I going to do? Would he pull through at the last moment? Then with one swift kick Rumil was on his back at the mercy of Haldir's knives. It had been a trying match, and both were gasping for breath.

"I concede," Rumil cried out, splaying his arms on the ground. "Mercy! Mercy from the throng!"

Haldir looked at us for a silent moment as though seriously considering the alternative.

"Mercy, Lord Haldir, mercy!" several of the onlooking elves laughingly responded, and we added our mortal voices to theirs.

Then with a flourish he expertly sheathed his knives and grasped Rumil's hand to help him rise.

Rumil bowed to us all, then asked Haldir the question I was absolutely dreading.

"When will you claim your prize, brother?" he asked Haldir. They both stared at me like I was a cornered rabbit. Brothers, indeed.

"At dinner tonight," Haldir replied in a tone that demanded obedience. While Rumil wisely kept his distance, Haldir strode slowly toward me with a definite swagger until he was facing me but a few feet away. God help me, I even love his scent when he is sweating. I crossed my arms over my chest and shifted my weight onto one hip to show my displeasure, or perhaps to hide my physical reaction to his attentions, but of course it did me no good. His haughty, teasing manner only became more pronounced, and he ordered Rumil while looking me straight in the eye, "Have Marian bring her secret to the Hall for all to see." Both the other elves and my companions made it clear that they agreed. I would have to have words with Rumil, I thought to myself as I gave him my best death stare over Haldir's shoulder. Rumil smiled back in his most winsome manner. If he thought he was going to avoid my revenge, he was wrong.

Haldir pivoted on his heels and Rumil threw him one of his knives, which he, presented hilt-first to Dieter. "A short demonstration of what you will all be learning: You will engage Rumil." Dieter smiled eagerly and nodded, moving into the circle with Rumil following. Haldir flipped one of his own knives over and presented the hilt to the rest of our group. "Who wishes to engage me?" he asked, and Mason immediately stepped forward. Mason declared arrogantly as he took a few practice strokes that he had been a champion fencer in college, and that we could all watch and learn. Joel elbowed me in the side and I leaned my head on my hand as Mason and Haldir readied themselves. I had a feeling that this was going to be a disaster. It was.

Rumil and Dieter had a friendly but one-sided contest in which Dieter found himself dashed to the ground quite often, happily learning some techniques that he said he hadn't seen before. Mason, on the other hand, quickly grew angry as Haldir blocked his every move and pinned him time after time. So aggravated and embarrassed did he become, that he hardly learned a thing that Haldir was patiently trying to teach him. He even began to yell insults, until finally Haldir soundly cuffed him and knocked him to the ground, holding the tip of the knife to his neck. "You must control your anger to think clearly, Mason Wells, lest you defeat yourself," the Elf Lord said sternly, and offered his hand to help Mason stand. Mason glared at Haldir and stood, ignoring his outstretched hand.

I stepped forward into the circle, intending to tell Mason that he owed Haldir an apology, but Joel was right next to me.

"We are these people's guests," he hissed quietly to Mason. Now Joel was the one on the receiving end of Mason's glare. But Mason reconsidered, and handing Haldir his knife hilt-first, he reluctantly said to him, "My apologies." Haldir nodded curtly in response, and sheathing his knives, turned away through the dispersing onlookers.

I took Joel aside and held a low conversation with him, telling him that it had been my duty to speak to Mason, not his. Frankly, his reply made me more uncomfortable than Mason's unfortunate actions. He said smoothly that he was there to help me anytime that I felt I needed his support to handle a tricky situation. I told him, calmly but more coldly than I intended, that I had been about to handle the situation, and if I needed his help I would be sure to tell him first. I added quietly that I would confront team members if need be so that there would be no unnecessary conflicts within our group. I did not want personal tensions to develop that would keep us from focusing on our work. We shall see if Joel follows my advice.

My ecologist is apparently a very bad loser. It was obvious to all except to Mason that Lord Haldir's intentions had been to teach, not to humiliate. Still, I trust that Mason can curb both his temper and his ambitions for the good of our cause. I hope I am right.

"Knives?" I heard Yasmin comment to Rumil as I broke away from my thoughts. We were walking around the clearing watched the practicing elves. "Bows and arrows? You have not adapted to modern times. What about rifles, or machine guns, or bombs?"

Dieter agreed with her and included Haldir, who had returned to our group, in his question. "How can you hope to defend yourselves against such superior weapons?"

"A well-made bow in a skillful hand is more accurate than a rifle and has as great a range" Haldir replied. "An arrow is more easily replaced and retrieved than a bullet. Its flight is silent. For those whose need is to live undetected, which weapon then is superior?"

"But your opponent would wear a bulletproof vest; you have no such protection," Roger added in concern.

"You believe such a garment can withstand our archers?" Rumil asked. "Place the one that you now wear on the target, there," he said to Dieter, pointing to several that were set up on the edge of the clearing, "and we shall see."

Dieter blinked in surprise at Rumil's words, then silently unbuttoned his heavy flannel shirt to reveal his vest, which he placed at chest-height on the nearest target. Sandy and I looked at each other: none of us had noticed that Dieter had such a garment on, bulky though it was. Apparently I was not the only one with a secret.

We stepped back quite a distance, from which Haldir directed a practicing archer to shoot the target. The archer's first arrow struck the vest dead center; the second he placed precisely at the neckline above the vest. My hand involuntarily went to my throat. Dieter walked forward and retrieved the vest, holding it up for us to examine. The first arrow had cleanly pierced it through.

"Mithril it is not," Haldir commented dryly, confusing us all.

"But you could be overwhelmed by hundreds," Yasmin protested.

"Cunning can overcome brute force. Every defense has its weakness," he insisted, pointing to Dieter's neck and under his arm next to his vest. "One does not fight a weapon; one fights an opponent. In the forest, individual actions - stealth, quickness, accuracy - are more effective than heavy weapons. In the forest, we have the advantage."

"Still," Dieter said with concern, "you could be attacked from far away – you would have no defense."

"That is why we must never be found," Haldir replied grimly, and walked away.

Tonight after dinner Lindir has arranged for each of my companions to move from the stables to share the home of an elvish family who has been gracious enough to open their home to mortals - a family as different from each of our teachers as possible. I will be staying in my talan. I believe Rumil will be in a part of Haldir's talan, near him and Vanimé.

Rumil was waiting patiently and smugly for me as we excused ourselves from Lindir to return to the stables.

"How do you know if I have hidden anything, Rumil? And what favor do you owe Haldir?" I demanded aside to him as he walked back with me.

"I know that you have brought more than one thing of secrecy here, Marian," he whispered in a very self-satisfied manner and tickled my ear with his breath. "One, you are now bound to show Haldir tonight."

"You've been looking in my things again! You had no right to do that, Rumil. You promised you wouldn't search our backpacks."

"I promised I wouldn't search the OTHERS' backpacks. By the way, your other little secret I will not ask you to reveal until you are ready. But when you are, I reserve the right to lick the spoon."

A wave of partial relief swept through me, and Rumil seemed puzzled at my reaction. "I'll tell you what I would rather you do with the spoon," I threatened grumpily, hoping that would distract him.. So he knew one of my harmless secrets, but I was still not sure about the other - the one I would have to present to Haldir.

"As to the favor, it is a family matter," he said, ignoring my threat.

"I am family," I reminded him pointedly, wriggling the ring on my finger in front of his face.

"Then it is a matter between brothers," he hedged. I gave him a withering look, which never works. It didn't work now either, though I was dying of curiosity.

". . . between Lord and Counsellor. Very need-to-know. A matter of security, as a matter of fact," he went on with such a pathetic expression that I felt guilty for asking. Almost.

"Oh, I'll bet," I told him. "In that case, I'm letting Curulas lick the spoon. He at least will help me."

"I'll help you," Rumil whined.

"Too late," I replied, and followed the others into the stable to gather my things.

I dread dinner. I have deferred each inquiry into what I had hidden in my backpack until then. The closer we come to the early winter evening and this meal, the more panicked I feel.

Rumil does not know what he has done. At least, I hope he doesn't.

/i 


	29. Ch 29: Now You See Me, Now You Don't

Title: The Tale of Marian

Chapter: 29/?

Rating: PG13 this chapter.

Pairing: OFC/Haldir

Genre: Adventure/Romance/perhaps a little Angst

Timeline: AU, modern times.

Beta: None this chapter.

Feedback: Welcomed, appreciated. Constructive criticism always appreciated.

Warnings: None.

Author's Notes: This is a work in progress.

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1 for disclaimer.

THE TALE OF MARIAN

Chapter 29 - Now You See Me, Now You Don't

i 

20 January - just a note before dinner

I'm so nervous I'm scribbling, but things are getting outright weird and I've no idea what to do about it. The cloak Vanimë lent me is ruined and I can't possibly give it back. What am I supposed to tell her? If I don't return it she'll think I'm stingy. If I tell her I wrecked it she'll want to see if she can fix it, and she'll ask questions that I just can't answer.

You, dear journal, are the only one I can talk to about this, and I must say that it's a very one-sided conversation.

I will not under any circumstances take the jewel to the Hall for everyone to see, even if Rumil knows about it. It would cause chaos. Surely he'll see that if he knows. So all I can do is pray that he doesn't know, and take something else instead. The only things not spoon-worthy that I have not shown anyone are the goggles. If Rumil checked my backpack before I put the jewel in it, then they are what he must mean, though if so I don't understand why they are such a big deal. I'll have to take my chances.

I put them in a bag to take to dinner - Rumil loves to be dramatic and they might as well be a surprise, such as they are. Then I decided that I had better check on the jewel, just to make sure it was still there. This time I pulled the thick curtain tightly over the alcove, and I draped the fur throws that Allinde had brought me for the winter over it and under the skylight - it was still comfortable in the caverns, but a little chilly at night. Luckily these things were thick enough to keep most of the brilliant light from the jewel from spilling out all over the place again, as far as I could tell. I kept the basket in the wardrobe and leaned over to shield it as I opened it. I lifted out the jewel, wrapped in Vanimë's cloak, and saw a hole the size of a tennis ball in the bottom of the basket. The edges were blackened. I didn't think the hole was there before. Without thinking I turned the parcel over. I saw that it had holes in it as well like something had burned it, right where it had been resting on the bottom of the basket. The jewel shone out of the tattered cloak like a lighthouse beacon. Quickly I unwrapped it and shut the wardrobe door on it, pulling Vanimë's cloak out and holding it up to examine. By the light of the jewel through the cracks between the wardrobe doors, I saw clearly that it had large blackened holes all over it - it was completely ruined! I opened the wardrobe and threw the cloak over the jewel as best I could, then I slammed the door shut again. Had the jewel actually burned through the cloak and the basket? How could it have - it was strangely warm to the touch, but not hot. I opened the doors again and slid the basket over - there was a small blackened indentation on the bottom of the wardrobe where the hole in the basket had been. This is crazy! Before I go to dinner I'll have to find something else to put it in, something not flammable, like a thick metal box. I'm leaving now to find something. But first, I want to take one more look at the jewel, just to be sure my eyes aren't deceiving me.

/i 

Ah Marian, Marian. As soon as I began to read this part of her journal, I could see that she had tried to erase the word "jewel" and put "object" in its place. Most likely she thought that I might find the journal. To my chagrin I did not, not until after she was gone. But my eyes have always been better than hers; I could see the imprint of the word underneath its replacement. So I have, when I quote her journal, put the right word where it was meant to be. Clever girl, she may even have hidden it somewhere besides the wardrobe, and written that it was there just to throw me off. I suppose I will never know, for I was not aware of it at the time, or even later, when I could have helped her most. But I'm getting ahead of the story.

Marian brought her secret to the Hall in a bag. I know this, not because I saw her come in with it, but because I met her at her door as she was coming out with it and escorted her to dinner. She was not amused when I told her that I must ensure that the spoils of my wager were delivered to Haldir. She told me most unfairly that it was not she who was "spoiled" and that I was making her feel like a criminal. She would not even let me check inside the bag. She really was quite a bit more agitated than the occasion warranted.

Marian wanted to sit in the back of the Hall, but I insisted that she dine with me on Haldir's right, where she could not act on any second thoughts. Vanimë sat in her usual place on his left. Marian could hardly look across the table at her without seeming embarrassed. She clutched the bag under the table and hardly ate a thing. I began to regret my wager; I had not intended to make Marian so uncomfortable. Haldir finally took pity on her and cut dinner short, standing to gain the attention of the elves and mortals in the Hall.

He strode to the front of the main fireplace, and the Hall became silent with expectation. "A wager has been made and lost," he declared with somber dignity, though I could clearly see mirth behind his serious façade. "Counsellor, come forth. I have called this time and place for payment to be made."

"Rumil, I really don't think this is a good idea," Marian pleaded under her breath, but I rose and took her gently by the arm, escorting her to stand before Haldir and those in the Hall.

"It is best that your people see what you have brought. They are suspicious," I reminded her in a whisper.

"And whose fault is that?" she hissed.

"Silence," Haldir ordered, and motioned Marian to open her bag. She reached in and pulled out her goggles, so that only Haldir and I could see. "I assume this is what you were expecting, Rumil. I don't think. . . " she began, but Haldir told her in no uncertain terms to hold them up for all to see. Huffing and rolling her eyes quite disrespectfully, she turned around and raised the goggles over her head. A number of disappointed and questioning looks passed between those present, mortal and elf alike. "Are you both satisfied now?" she asked us out of the corner of her mouth as she continued to hold them up.

Haldir turned to me dangerously and spoke for all to hear. "Counsellor, I expected a wager worthy of our challenge. Explain yourself, and quickly."

"Allow me to explain, with Dieter's help," Marian requested, lowering the goggles. "I owe it to our fellowship, and I was going to show them to you both anyway."

"Later. Alone," she added under her breath, not noticing that most of the elves immediately nearby could hear her quite clearly.

"Proceed," Haldir instructed her without interest. Marian waved Dieter forward.

"These are night vision goggles," she began. "They were my late husband's, when he was in the Air Force. They take whatever light is available – the stars, the moon – and concentrate it so you can see things at night. Especially things that are moving. They also have an infrared function: Any object that radiates heat, like a fire, or our bodies, or animals, shows up in the dark as red light, or orange, or such, depending on how warm it is." She looked to Dieter for support. "Like the satellites use," she said to Haldir meaningfully. "Are you sure you don't want to talk about this more privately?"

"It is a problem that all present in this Hall are intimately aware of," Haldir told Marian, ignoring her request. "In ages past we walked unseen, passing as a brief glint of light or the murmur of water to mortal eyes and ears. But no more. Twilight and starlight no longer provide the protection we need to travel outside this haven, especially as a group, now that men have made such machines."

"Exactly."

"No, not exactly," said Dieter, taking the goggles from her and examining them. "Marian, these are over twenty years old. The technology has changed a lot since then. Now it is more sensitive, more precise, and much more powerful. And if I'm not mistaken, these aren't supposed to be personal property."

"Never mind about that," Marian said, returning Dieter's grin. "But it's basically still the same type of technology that the satellites and the military use, isn't it?" she asked him hopefully.

"Well yes, on a very basic level," Dieter replied cautiously. "Why did you bring them?"

"And how did you fit them into your backpack with all of the rest of your. . . possessions?" I couldn't help but tease her.

"I left the extra roll of toilet paper behind this time," she shot back. Then she turned to Haldir. "I just thought," she told him earnestly, "that if I brought these, we might be able to figure out a way that you could trick them; keep people from being able to see you with them, or with the satellites, when you leave. I wanted to find a way to help. You are helping us so much."

While Marian was speaking, Dieter was trying on the goggles, looking first at Marian, then at me and Haldir. He became very, very still. "Marian," he said quietly.

"We will consider this," Haldir was saying.

"Marian," Dieter said more loudly. "Marian, have you tried these yet? You have to see this," he insisted in excitement. "Excuse me, sir," he said to Haldir, "but I need to be sure. Can we get away from the light in here, go out into one of the gardens, right now while it's dark?

Upon Haldir's assent we reassembled in the kitchen gardens behind the Hall, all of us. Dieter's obvious excitement caused everyone, mortal and elf alike, to want to be part of whatever was about to occur. We only stepped on a few of the herbs, I swear.

There was still too much light in the gardens, Dieter declared, so Haldir reached out and sang out a gentle command, dimming the lanterns nearby until it was quite dark. No one thought anything of it until the mortals expressed their amazement.

"Who did you signal to dim the lights?" Mason asked, and Haldir replied that no signal was given. "You just waved your hand, and they went out? That was quite a trick," Mason said in fascination. "I called upon them to do so," Haldir said, and regarded Mason with patience. "It was no trick. Yet few here remain who may call upon them to do their will. Perhaps it is what you would call magic, though I do not know."

Dieter politely positioned me and Yasmin in the darkest corner of the garden near some of the larger shrubs, and checked the goggles again. Then he handed them to Marian. "First, without the infrared," he instructed her impatiently. Marian donned the goggles and looked through them at us. Then she handed them to Haldir. "I can see you both, but Rumil most brightly of all, because of your aura," she said in disappointment.

"Does anyone have a cloak for Jason - I mean Rumil?" Dieter asked, looking to Vanimë, "one of those amazing cloaks that we had in the tunnel?" An elf came forward with one, and with Vanimë's approval, put it around my shoulders. Being relatively intelligent, I understood what Dieter had in mind. I tucked my hair under the cloak and pulled the hood up over my head, hiding my face while still having an adequate view of my surroundings.

Haldir looked through the night-vision goggles again, then handed them to Marian and Dieter. "Rumil, move around," she said, and I walked back and forth. "I can't see you, unless you look up!" Marian exclaimed, but Haldir remained stoic. "Now the infrared," he said to Dieter.

"This is what I wanted to show you," Dieter said, handing Marian the goggles. "I don't understand it. Tell me that you both see what I see, please."

Marian put on the goggles and looked first at Yasmin, then at me. "I. . . I don't understand either. Is this set right?" she asked Dieter. Dieter checked the goggles and confirmed that the setting was indeed correct. She looked at us through the goggles again, and then, silently and with teary eyes and barely contained joy, she put them into Haldir's hands.

In the complete and expectant silence of the garden, Haldir held the goggles up for a long moment, then told me to remove my hood. As he lowered them his eyes were shining with hope, the kind of hope that I had not seen in his eyes since I had returned. "I can see you," he said to Yasmin, "glowing in the night, like the brief intense flame we liken to your kind. But I cannot distinguish you, cloaked or not, from the plants or the soil," he told me with wonder.

"That's impossible," Joel said, coming forward and accepting the goggles from Haldir. "You are as warm-blooded as we are. You're. . . "and his voice died away as he raised the goggles to his eyes and looked first in Yasmin's, then in my direction, and finally at Haldir. "There must be something wrong with these," he said, staring at the goggles incredulously. "There has to be."

"There is nothing wrong with them, Joel," Dieter said happily, and handed them back to Marian.

"Count Rumil of Transylvania, you have no reflection in the mirror," Yasmin pantomimed to me. I ignored her, and removed Joel's hands from my arm. He was suddenly looking at me like a science experiment and trying to take my pulse. It was most annoying.

"All of these years. . . we thought that we could be seen," Vanimë said regretfully.

"We are of the land, and the land is of us. Mayhap this is the reason," Haldir said to Joel. Then he turned to Marian and bowed deeply, for which she was clearly embarrassed. "You have shown us our path, now unhindered, to the Sea. A great burden has been lifted from our hearts. We are in your debt," Haldir told Marian in a voice deep with emotion.

"We are in yours," she insisted. "In more ways than we can describe."

It was the unspoken responses rather than the words that passed between Marian and my brother that betrayed for all to see the regard that they held for each other. Even the mortals took note of it.

Later as we walked back to our talan, Haldir told me that Marian had fulfilled what the Lady Galadriel had told him was to come – that Marian would aid us to find our way home. Finally, I thought, after an age, a brief glimpse into what the Lady of Light had shown my brother. Yet I knew him well: This alone was not enough to bring that solitary tear to his eye. I pointedly commented to Haldir and Vanimë that there had to be more to what our Lady had shown him – there always was. And only half of our problem had been solved: We now knew how to get where we were going without being seen, if we were careful. The larger issue remained: we still didn't know precisely where our destination lay.

"It is enough," he said firmly. "I will ask no more of her."


	30. Ch 30: If You Should Fall Into My Arms

Title: The Tale of Marian

Chapter: 30?

Rating: PG13 this chapter.

Pairing: OFC/Haldir

Genre: Adventure/Romance/perhaps a little Angst

Timeline: AU, modern times.

Beta: None this chapter.

Feedback: Welcomed, appreciated. Constructive criticism always appreciated.

Warnings: None.

Author's Notes: This is a work in progress.

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1 for disclaimer.

THE TALE OF MARIAN

Chapter 30 - If You Should Fall Into My Arms

i 

January 21

Last night was St. Agnes' Eve – that night when a young lady is supposed to see in her dreams the face of her husband to be. Was it a cruel joke then, or some happy sign that I dreamed of Haldir again? A cruel joke most likely. I am no longer young. Except for that brief moment of joy in the garden last night, Haldir has been ever more distant toward me since I returned. And this dream was not like the others. In this dream I was afraid. We had paused together in a dark curving corridor, he and I. Lanterns glowed far apart along the walls, no doubt spaced for elvish eyes, not mortal ones. The feel of the corridor was somewhat utilitarian. Still, I could see the shadows of tapestries on the wall and felt rather than saw that beyond the light flickering dimly from around the outer curve of the wall that steps lie just ahead, leading down. Haldir had pulled me against his chest, his arms wrapping me in a large fur. He was looking over my shoulder toward the steps and though I couldn't hear him, in my dream I knew he was saying something to me that I disagreed with. I tightened my arms around his waist, trying to stop him but he backed away, folding the fur around me. It was then that I saw he wore the red cloak from the wall in his study. The lantern behind me pulsated and then weakened, and Haldir drew his sword. Alarmed, I tried to turn and squint into the darkness ahead, when he twisted me around so that he was between me and the curved wall. It was then that I saw what had dimmed the lantern beyond. A thick dark cloud was swirling around the corner, now only a few feet away from Haldir's back. He warned me back, but I shook my head. "No!" I mouthed, but no sound came from my throat. As I reached for him, Haldir turned and stepped, sword extended, into the ominous mist. Hungrily, it seemed, it swallowed him, obscuring him from my sight. He called to me, for though I couldn't hear him, for a moment I could see his face, his lips forming urgent words, waving me back. I couldn't let him go on alone! I followed him into the obscuring mist and shivered – it was dank and cold and clinging, but it was something more. Evil, I thought, it felt alive and evil. I lost sight of Haldir again, and I was suddenly, deathly afraid for him. Then the mist swirled apart, almost in a rhythm, and I glimpsed him briefly as he began to descend the steps. He looked back quickly and motioned vehemently for me to stop, a thin ray of lantern light that momentarily pierced through the mist to illuminate him, making his eyes glint dangerously. He turned away and was lost in the thickening darkness that shifted again to cover the meager lantern's rays like the fur blanket I was holding around me. I couldn't grasp the bulky fur and use my hands too. Shrugging it off I plunged blindly forward, one hand on the cold stone wall, the other hand reaching into the ominously dark and muddy mist for him, mist that felt heavy and alive and groping around me, like frozen fingers. I woke up shivering under the fur covers of my bed.

/i 

Marian told me shakily about her nightmare, and repeated to me that she was concerned about Haldir. I reassured her that after the night we found out about the goggles she should have nothing to worry about. It had only been a bad dream. I did not want to alarm her by telling her that I thought her dreams might have some kind of significance. I only asked her that if she dreamed about him again, she should tell me about it in detail. "It depends on what kind of detail, but you might as well ask me tomorrow," she confirmed my suspicions with bleary eyes, "because I dream about being with him almost every night."

The weeks flew by and the mortals became somewhat accustomed to our ways. Of course Allinde and Arianna got along famously, and I was as likely to see Marian with them on the couches in the library as often as I saw her with Corudring in his workshop or hanging with him from the roof of a greenhouse with chisel or saw, covered with sawdust and dirt. What I would have given to know what the three of them spoke of there in front of the fire, with their heads close together in conspiratorial whispers. I was not convinced it was elvish lessons. I tried to overhear but Allinde's ears were too sharp, and she and Marian knew my ways too well. When I appeared they gladly suffered my inclusion on the couch, yet I suspected that they changed the subject more often than not. Still, to be surrounded by women and elleth alike was a pleasure not to be missed, especially when they were within pinching distance. Arianna's interests, though, shifted solidly from me to Dieter. One shy romance at least seemed to be quietly blossoming in Methentaurond, thankfully a harmless and happy one.

i 

February 4

I joined Arianna and Allinde in the library again for a short time this afternoon. It is one of the only truly restful moments of my day, on the occasion that I can manage to make the time. Not that I don't want to relax with Sandy or Yasmin or any of the men, but Allinde is like the sister I never had, and Arianna has become a confidant as well. Sitting and talking with these dear friends in the large, soft sofas by the fire I don't have to be Hiril Marian of Methentaurond, I can simply be Marian. Rumil, of course, is still my dearest friend of all, but there are some things that women only feel comfortable talking about to other women. Like talking about males - be they men or elves.

Arianna, if she is not talking in elvish or about elvish or books, talks of little else but Dieter. Allinde and I are sympathetic and amused by her youthful enthusiasm. I think only we know the full extent of her growing feelings for this ingenious, uncompromising man. Admittedly, I was not immediately fond of Dieter. Perhaps I was more distrustful of him than of the others simply because we need to confide in him the most about the very protection of the elves themselves. He's inflexible and aggressive, but he has a purposefulness that I admire. I think he's slightly paranoid about government in general, yet he believes strongly in democracy. He makes no secret of being sick of the military, while he remains passionate about order and rank. He thrives on the camaraderie of the march wardens and guards, but socially he is somewhat of a loner. He is a man full of contrasts and surprises. At first, Arianna confided in me, he was somewhat skeptical of the way I run things here, but he wants to prove himself to me. He told her that in Methentaurond he has found a cause to believe in – and he told her happily that he is finally "pulling one over" on the system. She complained today that the others don't respect him because he isn't an intellectual. Unlike her they don't see how smart he really is. Arianna believes in him. She insists he has a big heart that he doesn't like to show in public because he thinks it will undermine his job. I think she is right. I pray she is right: I can't afford to have made a mistake about Dieter.

/i 

Definitely not blossoming or even showing a bud on a bare winter branch was the romance that Joel imagined that he had begun with Marian. She was too subtle in her rebuffs, in my estimation, to penetrate the good doctor's high opinion of his effect on the opposite sex. She was never so subtle with me.

There was no love lost at all between Joel and Mason. Their power plays against each other to gain influence over the fellowship continued in spite of their obvious dedication to their own research. As I first warned Marian and then Vanimë, those two bore watching. Yet I did not worry, because Vanimë was just the elleth to watch them.

Everything in Methentaurand was not about pairing off or not pairing off, however unfortunate that may have been.

Yasmin dragged me with her into the kitchens one day and demanded that Turnaur and I show her where our garbage dump was. More could be discovered about a society in a day from examining their garbage than from months of observing their people, she declared sagely. Turnaur was momentarily taken aback. Few ventured to demand anything of our volatile master chef.

"What is a garbage dump?" he asked her with controlled politeness.

"It's where you throw away things that are broken or things that no longer have any use," she said testily, as he very well knew. Now where was it?

"Things that are broken? When it was brought home in shards to Imladris, did we throw away the Sword that was Broken?" he asked me in mock horror, clasping a floury hand to his heart. Having told our fellowship the tale of Aragorn and the Rings of Power on our journey here, I simply shook my head emphatically. "Things that no longer have any use?" he scoffed at her. "And what sort of ridiculous mortal things might those be?"

At such uncooperative comments, Yasmin became stubbornly insistent that we were hiding our garbage from her. We did not have a garbage dump, I told her plainly. We had discovered many uses for everything with which Arda gifted us. She refused to believe us.

"You have to throw away SOMETHING!" she insisted as I pulled her out of the kitchen and away from Turnaur for her own good. Weeks later, I noticed that she was still looking for it.

Sandy proved herself to be the supreme organizer of the group. Efficient and highly detailed, the first mission she set for herself was to catalog all of the tapestries and wall murals in the caverns with her manual camera and the dozens of rolls of film she had brought with her. Lindir started with her at the main gates and made sure that Sandy recorded every tale and poem, heard every piece of music that each illustration told as they went. It was slow going as you might imagine, but both of them could not have been happier. Lindir had not had so captive an audience in centuries: Sandy was hearing all of it for the very first time. They tended to gather a following. Some would pause and listen as they passed by, elves nodding to each other at this memory or that. Sandy made friends of many of the ellith this way, warm and open as she was. Others, frequently Joel among them, were drawn by Lindir's music as his voice floated echoing through the chambers. And Sandy asked Lindir a thousand questions: What was the paint made from? How was it applied? How old was this or that mural, and how had the colors stayed so fresh? Sandy wanted to have paint samples delivered to the city for analysis and carbon dating, but Marian refused so Haldir wouldn't have to: There would be too many questions. It would have to wait until we had gone. But above all, it was the pure art that gained Sandy's appreciation. In this way she was very much like Marian.

Mason continued to be fascinated by the lanterns. Vanimë told me that he asked her again how they worked, and how Haldir had made them dim and brighten. She replied to him that it would be almost impossible to explain to a mortal; it was so intrinsic a part of the elves' thinking and their very being. This only made Mason more curious. There had to be a logical reason for it, he insisted. Vanimë even had to stop Mason in the middle of taking one down from the cavern wall and taking it apart - he would just ruin it, she told him. He stubbornly replied that she didn't understand how important it could be for him to figure out how they worked - they could solve the energy crisis, he declared. It would be better than solar energy, or wind. Vanimë was unmoved. He would not find the answer to such problems in the lanterns, she told him flatly. Frustrated and complaining but too in awe of Vanimë to refuse, Mason returned the lantern to its place.

i 

February 8

I've been impressed with Mason's quick grasp of the way everything here is interrelated with everything else. But then I suppose I shouldn't be surprised - ecology is his passion. Mason understands how we must take a holistic approach to all of our actions and their consequences. He may be hotheaded and argumentative, especially with Joel, and he may not respect me as much as I would like, but his experience and perspective are proving invaluable.

Mason has a tendency to see mathematics in everything – how dull! Still, being an architect I know the Fibonacci sequence - 0, 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21. . . Each number is the sum of the two numbers before it, the difference between those two numbers coming ever closer to a ratio of 1.62. It's the basis for the most famous proportion in architecture - the Golden Mean. Most astoundingly, the Fibonacci sequence occurs over and over in nature - the rule rather than the exception. Why are four-leaf clovers so rare? Why, because there is no number four in the Fibonacci sequence! It is the difference between each chamber of the Chambered Nautilus; it is almost always the number of petals it takes for the spiral on a pine cone to go around once; it is the rotation of the pods of sunflower blooms; the number of petals on a flower.

I remember studying that the Romans knew the most graceful facades, the most comfortable rooms were the ones whose dimensions followed the Golden Mean. A rectangular room should be 1:2 (ten feet by twenty feet), 3:5, or 1:1.62. Amazingly, such rooms really do feel "right" and good. But it was Mason who pointed it out to us here in Methentaurond. It is everywhere - in the plants, the flowers, the way that the tree-columns in the caverns soar and branch and spread to support the cavern roof, even in the organic, flowing chambers of the Great Hall, where not a single sharp corner can be found. Once Mason showed us (making sure that everyone knew he had discovered it before the architect who should have seen it sooner), Sandy began to find it, over and over, in the proportions of the murals that centuries of elvish artists have painted on the walls. And I have begun to measure and draw the rooms of the Great Hall.

Corudring, master builder though he is, never mentioned this. When I asked him about it, he told me that the Golden Mean was so elemental an expression of nature's perfection, he didn't think to say anything to me. I'm dumbfounded that I've completely missed this. Is this one reason why the very talan I sleep in feels as if it is growing out of the tree-column it is so perfectly placed in? I've asked Corudring to tell me even the most basic truths he knows , like he was teaching a five year old - I'm afraid of what I will miss if he doesn't.

"Never does nature say one thing and wisdom another." Such is Corudring's mantra. "How can you tell this piece of wood, or this piece of marble what to become," he said to me today, shaking his head, "if you don't listen to what it wants to be?"

"Because I can't hear it!" I responded in jest, though I knew what he meant, as under his tutelage I repaired a lovely box made from a piece of precious, rare mallorn.

"Not yet," Corudring told me with a pat on the back, "not yet." He gave me the box.

I am secretly thankful to Corudring for much more than his patient instruction, or his sweet gift. Only when I lose myself in my work with him can I block out of my mind for a few hours my aching for Haldir. If Haldir is even in sight my world spins, my heart catches on fire and it is all I can do to stop from throwing myself at him. If he is away I feel like my insides have been torn away and I count the minutes, hours, days until he returns. I'm such a fool! These days he is gone as often as he is here, and when he is here he speaks little to me. If not for Corudring's workshop redolent of redwood and cedar, oil and metal, I would exhaust myself thinking of the Elf Lord every moment of the day and night, and perhaps, like the embers in Allinde's fire, be consumed from within. How do you stop yourself from coveting something, or someone, that isn't yours? This can't be healthy. I need to pull myself together. I keep telling myself this.

/i 

Roger and Gladrel exchanged animated gardener's wisdom about this plant and that, or simply stood in companionable silence, watching the bulbs push out of the ground and the sleeping branches begin to leaf out. Roger thrived in a perpetual world of excitement and discovery, dragging Lomion and Joel down to the greenhouses at any hint of a plant promising medicinal value. In February they began planting seeds, including some of the monkey pod tree seeds that Roger had gifted to Gladrel. He insisted, he told me, that she save some to take to Valinor. What world would possibly be complete without them? In spite of his being the most elderly among the mortals, Marian laughed that he would outlive them all.

It was good to hear Marian laugh. She had become too serious, too strained, and half of the time just not much fun to tease anymore. As a leader she fulfilled all of my expectations of her, and Haldir's, if he would only tell her so. She was constantly evaluating what the mortals and she were doing, and how they could do it better. Her only weakness was also one of her most endearing traits: She always focused on the positive side of people. That was one thing that I loved about her, but also one of the things that occasionally got her into trouble. Marian told me she thought that all of the members of the fellowship understood their obligations not only to their goals, but to each other as well. She refused to take the storm that was brewing between Mason and Joel seriously. They did not have that many differences; they were just being men; they would work it out, she told me. I was not so sure.

i 

February 14

Elves, of course, don't celebrate Valentine's Day. But tonight Lindir's telling of the Lay of Luthien (we are still only partway through it after many nights of singing) has turned into a celebration anyway.

Rumil and I are sitting together listening along with an unusually large gathering. Many faces are still unfamiliar to me. I assume that these are new arrivals. Also, several elves that only occasionally join these evening festivities are here as well. Even Haldir has lingered in the Hall this evening, but he is standing at the rear of the gathered elves, across the room from Rumil and me. I am trying not to stare at him.

Lindir is strumming a magnificent harp with long, sure, graceful fingers and singing in elvish. Others around us are joining in his song now and then. Rumil told me several nights ago that everyone knows this tale and holds it dear. Likewise, the tale of Aragorn and Arwen Undomiel has been put to song by Lindir himself, but that is a tale for other evenings.

I can now understand quite a few words and phrases of this beautiful, intricate ballad, but I don't worry for Roger or the others that are a little farther behind than I in the language. Whenever the elves sing, the meaning and images of their words are felt and understood by the heart. Tonight Lindir has been telling of the greatest deed ever done by Elves or Men: How Beren and Luthien together entered the very hall of the evil Vala Morgoth, and how by her robe of forgetfulness and the beauty of her song Luthien mesmerized and toppled Morgoth from his throne just long enough for Beren to cut a Silmaril from his clawed iron crown. Lindir spoke these words of Beren, though they were set to music:

"As he closed the Silmaril in his hand, the radiance welled through his living flesh, and his hand became as a shining lamp; but the jewel suffered his touch and hurt him not."

Before tonight Lindir had sung that no mortal could touch a Silmaril without his or her hand being burned and blackened, but Beren had touched it and not been harmed! Dare I write here what I now believe could be true – that the jewel hidden in a basket in my very talan might in fact be a Silmaril? Is there something larger here at play than I can imagine – was I meant to find this jewel? The very thought terrifies me, for what burden of responsibility could such a discovery place on me? What would it mean, and what would I have to do? Had Bruno died for some greater purpose, and not just because I had failed to save him, or is this thought only a sad rationalization in my own mind for the guilt I still feel at his death?

Lindir's description of the jewels that hold the last Light of the Two Trees rings true to what I myself have seen: That this jewel whose pure light comes from within even in the dark when I hold it in my hand makes my skin glow with light; that its light seeks and finds every crack between my fingers, every slit in what remains of Vanimë's cloak, every gap between the pieces of the wardrobe. _I_ts radiance breaks through as if it cannot be contained.

But if it doesn't burn my hand, then why did it burn through the basket? If I had left it there on the wardrobe floor it would have burned through the bottom of the wardrobe as well. Perhaps I should give it to Haldir and be done with it – it belongs to the elves, after all, and not to me. But would I be putting Haldir and the others in danger if I revealed the jewel? Will I be in danger if it is discovered? How many of the house of Feanor might be in these very caverns, ready to claim it back for their own again? Yet if they were here, wouldn't they have already challenged Haldir's authority to lead? And what about Haldir – he is so burdened now by his responsibilities, should I dare impose this on him as well? If I can't give it to Haldir, who else could I give it to? Rumil? No, if I gave it to Rumil, or Vanimë, then Haldir would share in the burden anyway.

Oh! I hate things that are so valuable that others would lie, cheat, steal, and even kill for them! Where's the joy in possessing such a thing? Already I have lied to Rumil, well, not lied really, but not told the truth. And Allinde; I have lied to her too. She saw light like a sun flash briefly through a library window, in the same direction as my talan. Had I seen it? No, I told her, I must have missed it. How many more of my dear friends will I have to lie to, to keep my secret? Yet this jewel's beauty is beyond anything I have ever seen or heard of. Maybe it isn't what I both hope and fear that it is. I have no idea what to do, except to wait and hear the rest of Lindir's tale.

Much, much more importantly than the jewel to me though, is that the Lay of Luthien is not just a part of the tale of the Silmarils. The Lay of Luthien is the story of the undeniable love between a mortal and an elf. This evening's song has given me some peace about my love for Haldir, no matter that he stands far across the Hall from me and studiously looks elsewhere when I look at him. I can feel the weight of his gaze resting on me when I'm not looking. It is not my imagination. It is driving me mad with desire. I envy every bound couple, every elf that sits near to another tonight. I envy Dieter and Arianna. I even envy the birds that fly in pairs through the caverns on this Valentine's night. I have promised myself not to do anything stupid.

Rumil just asked me, now that Lindir is resting for a few moments, how much I really understand about the relationship between Beren and Luthien. Smiling, I replied that I understood that Luthien's father hadn't approved of his daughter loving a mortal, but that their love was stronger than any barriers. Their gaining the Silmaril together proved that. Rumil opened his mouth to say something to me, but he never got the chance to tell me what it was. Lindir has begun to play his harp again, and the whole room has just broken into joyous song. Some elves have even begun to dance. Now Roger has joined them. This I can't pass up!

/i 

Ah! There was no sweeter sight in Arda than that of ellith dancing, especially when I had not met some of them yet - what better opportunity could there have been to repair such a regrettable oversight? But lest you think me insensitive, I assure you that my first dance, no matter where or when, always went to Marian.

When Marian and I first met (an occasion I artfully arranged to appear as though it was completely by accident) she loved dancing, but she could not do it at all well. Her late husband had not enjoyed it, and Marian would not go without him. I could not bear the deep hurt that I felt radiating from her at his loss. I was terribly afraid that she would fade. She needed something that would reach down inside of her where she had buried her joy for life, and make her realize that she could be happy again. I asked her to take dancing lessons with me. I goaded her. Then I dared her. Finally, out of desperation, I hounded her. At last she gave in, she told me, just to make me "shut up already." At first she stepped on my toes and elbowed me in the jaw when I turned her – she could not get used to the idea of following. "Rumil, I'm so sorry. I was always the "boy" when our girls' class had dancing in school because I was tall – all I know how to do is lead." Then she would bump into me again and protest, "how do I know what to do if I can't tell what's coming next?" But as soon as she allowed herself to relax she became quite good. Dance class, actually, spawned a few of Marian's disastrous dates, after which she swore she could not face another one. Being naturally graceful, of course, I received several offers for dates of my own, which were much more successful than Marian's. Funny, but those times seemed so distant once we returned to Methentaurond. I still remember sharing those few sweet, short years with my dearest Marian as some of the best of my life so far.

Yes, Marian could dance extremely well, and one could easily see that she loved it. A broad smile would appear on her face and she would shine like the sun. I was not the only one to notice her glowing that evening. Haldir could scarcely keep his eyes off of her. Her enthusiasm was as great as mine and the other elves, and her smile was contagious.

Turnaur approached Haldir and bounced on his toes eagerly until he received the hoped-for nod, upon which he ran to throw open his cellars. Lindir welcomed others with lyre and tambourine and drum, launching into music and song better suited to dancing than to tale-telling.

Haldir decided to dance too, and it warmed my heart to see it. He was an impressive presence on any dance floor and never failed to attend most gallantly and exclusively to each of his partners. Tonight, however, his gaze was quite frequently drawn over their shoulders in Marian's direction.

Marian was wearing her burgundy gown, not the soiled work clothes she had worn earlier that day. Her hair, still mostly brown but liberally scattered with gray, had grown to her shoulders, and she had recently taken to braiding it in the elvish fashion. I had taken the liberty of placing a fragrant peach-colored flower from the table into one of her braids as we danced, for which I received a good-natured peck on the cheek. What would I get if I brought her a dozen flowers, I inquired"Trouble" was her reply, and: "Now let go of me and harass those ellith you've been drooling over." "What ellith?" I protested, craning my neck to look innocently around the room. Marian rolled her eyes. The hues of her gown and the flower dramatized their dark hazel color, and the braids suited her. She danced like a Maia - well, perhaps more like a sensual maiden who had imbibed a few glasses of miruvor. She looked quite fetching, and I could not blame Haldir for not realizing he was staring at her, smitten as he was.

I twirled Marian into Roger's capable hands, and pulled Arianna to her feet. Dieter was guarding outside with Orodren and a group of wardens for another week, so I feared no reprisal for my gentlemanly attentions. Besides, rescuing pretty ladies in distress – or even the smallest hint of possible future distress - is one of my many talents.

Bowing to Arianna, I moved on to allow as many new ellith as possible an enviable turn at dancing with me. Why let a mithril opportunity go to waste?

i 

February 15

I told myself last night that I wouldn't do anything stupid, so of course I did. Too much miruvor no doubt had something to do with it. I matched Rumil glass for glass, not counting because I had never noticed before that elves can drink wine like water to no apparent effect whatsoever. Rumil probably doesn't have the headache that I have this morning either. I should have known that I was already in enough of a state over Haldir not to drink any at all, but it's too late for that now, isn't it?

Even though I was occupied with my own partners, I couldn't keep myself from watching the masterful yet reverent way that Haldir danced with his; how he effortlessly guided them across the floor holding them oh so close, spinning around with them so that their gowns and the gleaming strands of his golden hair fluttered in the wake of their movements. Too many times he caught me watching. I couldn't help but turn red and look down, at least until I couldn't stop myself from looking again. I thought that maybe if I had another glass of miruvor I'd stop flushing so badly. How I wished that he would dance with me like that just once, but the merry-making went on and still he didn't ask me. (I thought it was only Rumil who partied this way, but it seems all elves can celebrate for the longest time!)

I felt increasingly embarrassed and sorry for myself that Haldir had briefly danced with Vanimë and Allinde and half of the other ellith in the room, not to mention Sandy and Yasmin, and was still keeping a great deal of distance from me. I bolstered my courage with another glass of miruvor, crossed the wide elliptical Hall (with its gracious 3:5 proportions) under his deeply experienced, speculative gaze, and asked him myself.

For one short flicker of his eye I thought I had surprised him with my request, but then he serenely raised his eyebrows at me and offered me his arm. He led me to the very center of the room and pivoted me around to face him, looking somberly into my eyes but not yet moving to put his hand on my waist. The roomful of dancers swirled around us but we stood motionless, suspended like we were held in the eye of a storm. I held my breath. Coming to some hidden decision, he quietly drew me closer, our eyes never parting, until I was pressed tightly against his chest and looking up at him, our lips barely inches apart. I hoped he might kiss me. Instead, we began to dance: Slow, deliberate steps, round and round, like we were in our own private dream. A little unsteady on my feet from the miruvor and feeling disoriented, I thought I would lose my balance. I tucked my head under his chin and clung tighter to him. At once I became deliciously aware of his every movement against me, from his shoulders to his toes. I felt his chest rise at his quick intake of breath, and he backed away from me, stiffly holding me at arm's length while we continued to dance. This was not the way he had danced with the others. He hadn't looked at them with dark, tempestuous eyes and held them far away like he was suddenly doing with me. None of the other couples were dancing at such a distance from one another. The magic of the moment before collapsed around me. What had happened? Had I done something to offend him so that he didn't want to be close to me? I knew I had drunk a little too much and he was steadying me - did this disgust him?

"Haldir" I looked at him questioningly but he made no move to either draw me closer or stop dancing. Uncomfortable and deeply hurt, I halted rather ungracefully, my fingers stiffening in his hands. The song was coming to an end anyway.

"If you didn't want to dance with me all you had to do was say so" I said in as low and controlled a voice as I could manage. Tears that I couldn't suppress began to well in my eyes, and I turned away from him, intending to leave the Hall immediately. I had made it halfway to the door before Joel stopped me.

"Dance with me" he said. It was a direction, not a request. I started to refuse, but then he said the one thing that made me change my mind. "Come on" he urged me, turning me back toward the dancers"let's show these elves what real dancing looks like."

So I proceeded to do exactly what I had promised myself I wouldn't do - something extremely stupid. I'd see that Haldir wished he'd danced closer to me, I thought. I'd show him a thing or two. And I moved back into the center of the Hall with Joel, idiot that I was.

/i 

I saw Haldir dance with Marian. He maintained a typically cool façade, but knowing from experience how to read my brother's subtle expressions I could see his deep need for this dear woman-friend of mine. I saw the cracks begin to appear in his control as he first pulled her very, very close and breathed in the scent of her hair and the flower I had placed in it, and then reared away from her before he lost command of his actions. My brother, about to lose control. It was a sight I rarely saw, but never before for such a reason. It rent at my heart.

I saw him begin to follow her as she walked away from him, drawn in on herself and slightly weaving. I saw him stop when Joel intercepted her and somehow talked her into returning to dance again, saw Marian look across at Haldir. An expression born of miruvor and hurt made her eyes glitter. She straightened her shoulders, raised her chin, and turned away to plant her hand on Joel's shoulder. Joel began to clap his hands for Lindir to step up the beat of his music. Oblivious to the drama being played out in their midst, others joined the clapping, encouraging the musicians toward something more energetic and exciting. They responded with enthusiasm, and an expression of smug triumph crossed Joel's face as he turned back to Marian and pulled her firmly into his arms. Oh Marian. The good doctor had evaluated the situation and leapt at his chance. I did not think his intentions were at all honorable.

Joel proved himself to be a smooth dancer. Step by step he subtly challenged Marian to dance more provocatively. Throwing herself heedlessly into the music, Marian responded to him movement for movement. Action and reaction began to take on the character of something between a tango and a belly dance.

I glanced worriedly at Haldir, who had not moved from my side but was standing practically at attention, his arms crossed in front of him, his jaw muscles working tensely as he watched them in stony silence.

I looked back at Joel. He had turned Marian so that her back was to him and raised one of her arms up over her head. He held her tightly against his hips with the other. Whispering in her ear, he let go of her hand and suggestively ran his open palm down the inside of her arm, pausing near her breast and then down her side to her waist. All the while she allowed him to rock her to the repetitive beat of the music. Then gripping her by the waist he dipped her low to the ground and ran a hand over her gown from her neck to her knee. Beside me, I felt Haldir take a small step forward and then stop himself. Raising her back up ever so slowly and pulling her forward against him, Joel began the deep, sensuous movements of a bold Brazilian dance that Marian had always refused to do with me because it was too blatantly sensual. Now she was effortlessly, tantatlizingly performing it with this man who I found myself increasingly disliking. Even I felt an unaccustomed tinge of jealousy watching her. Marian shot a quick look across the floor at Haldir and then looked away, continuing to match Joel's suggestive movements.

People began to stop in mid-dance. Couple by couple, a circle of onlookers began to form around Marian and Joel. Haldir, whose careful composure had changed to one of clear agitation, made no move to alter the situation. Why had Lindir not changed the music? No elf would ever put on such an exhibition. Neither would Marian, unless she was too upset at Haldir and possibly too drunk to fully fathom what she was doing.

"Will you stop them" I asked Haldir.

"No" he replied bitterly. "They appear to be quite suited to each other."

"Haldir, Marian is not as naïve as you fear about Joel's ambitions," I reassured him. "This has nothing to do with him."

"Oh? See how she smiles at him" Haldir replied painfully.

I shrugged my unconcern. "It means nothing," I insisted. "Dancing always makes Marian smile. She is doing this to get a reaction out of you. And she is succeeding."

Haldir turned the venomous gaze he had been giving Joel on me. Then he took one last grim look at them dancing together, and strode swiftly out of the Hall without looking back.

With a sigh, I walked up to Joel and did what no elf would ever think of doing. I cut in. I must have appeared to have enough of Haldir's own venom in my voice, because Joel raised his hands and backed away without protest.

"Marian, it is time to call it a night. Look," I said, turning her firmly in the direction where Haldir and I had been standing, "your audience has departed. You can stop now."

"Oh, come on, Rumil, dance with me," she purred, circling around me. Then, swaying slightly, she noticed the other couples turning back to their own dancing. "Oh dear God, I've been making a fool of myself," she whispered to me, her eyes wide with sudden remorse.

"Yes you have," I said rather cruelly. "And stop swearing. I'm taking you to Vanimë right now, and you're going to let her walk you to your talan."

Marian groaned. "Oh not Vanimë, Rumil. I know I drank too much, but I can go by myself. I'm fine." She started to try and wriggle out of my arms.

"No, you are not fine," I said, tightening my grip, "and I cannot take you." Locating Vanimë, I signaled her for help.

"Why can't I go with you?" Marian pleaded while Vanimë came toward us. "You're mad at me, aren't you?"

"I am not angry with you, Marian. At least I do not think I am," I told her.

"I am going after Haldir," I told Vanimë, handing Marian off to her. "HIRIL Marian needs help finding her talan."

Marian was as brave as the most dauntless elven warrior in her own way, but I knew that as each day brought us nearer to departure, both her heart and Haldir's broke a little more. There was little I could do for either of them that I had not already tried. If only they would confess their feelings for one another. But I am wary of interfering with matters of the heart – I am wise, of course, but not that wise. Having said that, I went directly out to look for my brother.

I searched many paths until I found Haldir. From a bridge above and a moderate distance away from Marian's talan, I saw him at her door. He held a silver vase full of luminous white flowers. Haldir rarely picked these delicate, precious blooms that grew nowhere but in his private garden, and it was just as rare an honor to receive them from him.

I knew that Vanimë had not yet brought Marian home. Haldir paused a moment, and then left the flowers on the small table outside her door, caressing the petals before he turned to walk up the path in my direction. Walking casually forward, I met him along the way.

"There is no need to pretend you are here by chance, Rumil," he said by way of greeting, and looked back down towards Marian's talan. "I believe an apology is called for."

"By you or by her?" I asked him. I suppose I was angry with Marian after all.

"I regret my behavior earlier," he admitted uncomfortably. "I suppose she is still dancing with him."

Vanimë and Marian appeared walking down the path. Good, I thought, Vanimë would know what the flowers signified. But they turned aside and walked around the other side of the talan onto Marian's deck. Haldir stood with me silently on the path, waiting. When Vanimë left a few minutes later, Haldir made no move to return to Marian's door.

A light appeared to flash briefly through the skylight above Marian's talan. I was pondering what it might have been when Joel appeared on the path below us and stopped at Marian's door, a bouquet of flowers in the crook of his arm. If the flowers had been from Haldir's garden I just might have jumped off the bridge and. . . well, they were from the kitchen gardens from the looks of them, so I did not. Instead I stepped quietly back with Haldir behind a hedge along the path, and watched. Then the doctor did a most foul thing. Seeing the flowers Haldir had left on the table, he glanced around the caverns. Seeing no one, he removed the blooms and combined them with his own, slipping the vase under the table. I was aghast that he had dared to even touch them. He knocked on Marian's door. After a few moments, he knocked again, and it opened. Marian stood in a thin nightgown with the door half open, spoke to him a moment, and then backed up to let him into her talan. Haldir stiffened beside me.

"Haldir, will you not do something?" I asked him indignantly. "Those are your flowers."

"No. It is better this way" my brother said though he did not sound like he was convincing himself. "Marian deserves someone to care for her, someone who can remain by her side and not leave her as I must. Perhaps it will be this mortal."

I shook my head as I watched him pace back and forth in front of me, always in sight of Marian's door. Haldir really was too noble for his own good. What could I do to distract him from his obvious pain, I wondered?

"Marian is not foolish enough to be caught by this man's ambitious games. He is not right for her. Must you play the martyr? Doing so satisfies no one - not you, not Marian, and most importantly, not ME. It is you she wants. Not the healer - YOU."

"It would be foolish indeed for any ellon to trust his heart to a mortal, as you can see. If she is not doing so even now, she will go to him in time." Haldir looked longingly toward Marian's door, which was still closed. What could be going on in there? – the excruciating question was written across his brow more clearly than he would want. "She will have a chance for happiness."

"Listen to your counsellor, Haldir. You are both frustrating me beyond endurance. Let me put this in the rawest of mortal terms" I huffed and took a breath deep enough for the litany I quickly thrust at him before he could interrupt me"She wants you. She wants you BAD. She wakes in the wee hours of the morning calling for you, aching from her dreams of you."

"She dreams of me" Haldir started, with a very odd look. Then he recovered himself. "How did you discover this" he reprimanded me.

"That is completely beside the point. Go to her. Take her. Take her HARD. Take her FAST. Take her NOW. End this torture that you are putting me through! You will both thank me."

Haldir dragged his eyes away from Marian's still-closed door long enough to shoot me a scathing look. "Let me make sure I understand you" he said, dragging me down the path beyond the hedges. "You wish me to burst into Marian's talan this very instant, cast this mortal out, and ravage her like a wild beast so that YOUR sexual tension can be relieved. Is THAT what you are actually suggesting"

"Yes! Dear Valar, YESSSSS" I yelled, clutching the collar of his tunic and shaking him as a startled Orodren walked up to us on the path.

"I will not even ask" Orodren raised his hands in defense and kept on walking.

Haldir stared at me in disbelief for a moment. Then he doubled over in a fit of laughter. For a moment at least, I had made him forget his heartache.

i 

Vanimë walked with her arm propped under mine, guiding me silently back home. I counted the footsteps until I could get away from her. Her every stride spoke of disapproval and saintly superiority. Or maybe I wasn't being fair to her. After all, the miruvor was wearing off – finally – and I was excruciatingly embarrassed at what I had done. Too bad I didn't have more, or I would have drank it just to stay inebriated until I could shut the door on her and the rest of the world and go straight to bed. Instead she steered me aside onto my deck and we sat down on the bench against my window. Or maybe she let me fall down onto the bench and then sat next to me. I don't remember.

She spoke to me then. "Are you all right?" she surprised me by saying, not gently, but not judgmentally either.

"I will be after I apologize to Haldir," I said. "And to you," I added, "and to everyone else in this whole place."

"I think that apologies are best left until tomorrow, don't you?" she asked me, and got up to open my door. I stood up very slowly and walked carefully inside. Vanimë followed me in and lit the candles by my bed for me.

"Vanimë?" I said, and she paused on her way back out the door. "I ruined the cloak you gave me. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to."

"I will teach you to make another for me tomorrow," she said, and closed my door.

I groaned with both relief and shame. Gratefully I ripped off my gown, loosened my hair and slipped into the nightgown Allinde had given me, collapsing onto my bed with Rumil's flower. But the wardrobe in the alcove called to me. I hadn't checked on the jewel in days. I decided to take a quick look at it before I fell asleep, just to assure myself that it was all right.

I shuffled across to the alcove and put up the furs again as best I could manage, then opened the wardrobe to lift the metal container I had found to put the jewel in out onto the floor. The container came, but the jewel and Vanimë's tattered cloak didn't. There it sat in an indentation in the wardrobe floor, gleaming brilliantly through the holes in the cloak. Damn! I quickly dropped the container clattering to the floor and threw one of the furs over the jewel. Then I picked up the container and turned it over. Sure enough, its bottom had completely disintegrated. Only a perfectly jewel-shaped, blackened outline remained around the edges. I felt the onrush of a major headache starting somewhere behind my eyes.

Then someone knocked on my door.

Shit! How, I wondered out loud, could this night possibly get any worse? I did the only thing I could think of, even though I didn't want to. I ran back to my dresser, grabbed the box that Corudring had given me, and stuffed the jewel into it. Leaving the metal container in the alcove, I shut the wardrobe door, yanked down the furs and threw them on the floor over the container. There was that knocking again, louder than before. What could possibly be so important in the middle of the night? Pulling the curtain back over the alcove and pinching my fingers between my now-throbbing eyes, I made it to the door and flung it open.

There on my doorstep was Joel, with an armful of flowers. I was suddenly aware that I only had my thin nightgown on and my hair was in my face. I hadn't thought to put on my robe.

"I thought I would check on you to make sure you'tr alright" he said, examining my barely clothed condition rather too appreciatively. "I see that you are. Oh, and these are for you" he added, presenting them to me with a slight bow. "I enjoyed dancing with you, Marian, very much. May I come in for a moment"

It would have been so wise to refuse. I could have said I had a headache, the perfect and absolute rejection line for any male. But when I saw the flowers he was pressing at me, I let him in and closed the door. If I made this quick, I could get back to the jewel and find something else to put it in so it wouldn't have time ruin the mallorn box.

"Joel, it's strictly forbidden to pick flowers from Haldir's garden, much less even enter there without his permission. I don't even know what the punishment might be if anyone sees you with these. How in the world did you find it? Why did you go in"

Joel stood with his mouth open in shock for a few awkward moments. I could see him trying to think, something that wasn't usually at all difficult for him. Was he going to lie to me?

"I must have just wandered into it while I was looking for flowers" was his rather lame response. "But the flowers aren't the only reason I came. I want to warn you about Haldir."

"Warn me" I responded warily. "About what"

"Well, about your feelings for him, Marian. Why do you pine after him when he gives you no encouragement? You don't seem to see how badly he treats you. And he is an elf, Marian. He'll leave you anyway and you'll never see him again. "

"Joel, really. I have no romantic interest in Haldir. Or anyone else" I added pointedly, and I turned away from him to put the flowers in some water.

"Don't try to fool me, Marian" he said, following me. "Any man can see that you want. . . companionship. You should look closer to home. Much closer."

"How close" I said a little more coldly.

"Surely you've noticed that I've not exactly been ignoring you since we met. I've helped you quite a bit, haven't I? And, like I said, I enjoyed our dancing very much, Obviously, so did you" he said, staring at the front of my thin nightgown again and stepping closer. "I've thought a lot about you since college, Marian. Does that surprise you? When I saw you at my door again, I knew we were meant to meet again. But you've allowed yourself to be distracted by this elf lord, by his power. I can understand that perfectly. Power is erotic, isn't it? But this elf will not give you anything that you need. I know what I can do for you, not only professionally, but very, very personally. I'm a doctor, after all" he said with a chuckle. "We would be good together. Very good. And two can accomplish so much more than one" he said, reaching out to touch my cheek. "We could. . .

"Joel, I think you should leave now" I interrupted, stepping aside for my robe and wrapping it around myself. "I don't like what you're saying about Haldir. He's been nothing but generous to all of us, and he doesn't deserve any of what you're saying about him. And I don't appreciate the assumptions you're making about me. You know nothing about what I think or how I feel. We danced, yes, but it was just a dance, Joel, nothing more. I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong impression, but I wasn't trying to send any of those kind of signals. I was a little drunk - it was just a dance! Please forget about it."

To my relief, he put down his hand and backed toward the door. "Alright, Marian, play hard to get. It will be an amusing game, and the end will be more exciting for our having played it. Good night."

I shut the door and locked it behind me. Ahhhhhhh! Not only couldn't this man take a hint, he couldn't even take a direct "No" At least he had gone away, finally, and I could rescue my box.

But when I went back to check on the box, it was fine. No burns, no holes, not even the slightest bit of damage. At least not yet. The jewel sat innocently inside, gleaming up at me like a pretty pet. I've decided that it can sit in there until tomorrow morning at least. I need some sleep. Tomorrow I will have to put my tail between my legs and apologize to Haldir. I suppose that will be as good a time as any to get out the spoon. Maybe I'll let Rumil lick it after all, and that will be bribery enough so that he won't stay as ashamed of me as he rightly is tonight.

/i 

From the song "Let's Dance" David Bowie.

From "Of Beren and Luthien," The Silmarillion, by J.R.R. Tolkien


	31. CH 31: If Dreams Could Make Wishes Come...

Title: The Tale of Marian

Chapter: 31?

Rating: PG13 this chapter.

Pairing: OFC/Haldir

Genre: Adventure/Romance/perhaps a little Angst

Timeline: AU, modern times.

Beta: None this chapter.

Feedback: Welcomed, appreciated. Constructive criticism always appreciated.

Warnings: Some angst.

Author's Notes: This is a work in progress.

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1 for disclaimer.

THE TALE OF MARIAN

Chapter 31 – If Dreams Could Make Wishes Come True

i 

February 16

Making the fudge for Haldir wasn't as hard as I thought it would be. I had brought the best chocolate, yes, but I had to ask Curulas for the rest of the ingredients. Cooking on an unfamiliar type of range with utensils I had never wielded before was nerve-racking. I missed my favorite saucepan. I wanted this fudge in particular to turn out perfect, and I only had one chance to get it right: Chocolate was not something readily on hand in Methentaurond, and what was here was guarded like gold and used only for very special occasions, Curulas told me. None such occasions have seemed to occur in the short time I have been here. Luckily, everything went fine. Rumil, who has an uncanny nose for chocolate, appeared in the kitchen this morning when it was almost ready. He has that kind of timing. He didn't say anything about the night before, and I didn't either. After I poured the fudge into the lovely dishes Curulas had chosen from the shelf I handed Rumil the spoon and Curulas the saucepan. They declared the confection perfectly acceptable. There was almost no need to wash the utensils afterward, they licked them so clean. What a relief. The only challenge remaining was to get my gift to Haldir before Rumil ate it.

I had been nervous about apologizing to Haldir all day and I wanted to get it over with. But I had spent several hours with Vanimë working on the cloak that she had promised me I would make her. Vanimë keeps her promises. I also discovered that Vanimë liked fudge almost as much as Allinde, having saved pieces for them both that they quickly accepted.

It was early afternoon by the time that I was able to find Haldir in the storehouse with Turnaur and a small host of assistants. Rumil had joined me though he had clearly not been invited. Large lidded baskets were being stacked and counted, and Turnaur was writing furiously in a notebook, then conferring with Haldir, nodding his head and writing some more. Perhaps, I thought, provisions were being checked. It must be difficult now for them now with so many more elves to feed.

Rumil's presence struck me as mildly curious, but I didn't bother to stop him and ask what it was all about. He would only have tried to pinch more chocolate. He had probably come to gloat over my apology. If I was lucky, I thought, I might just be able to shut the storehouse door in his face. But Haldir either didn't catch my harassed glance (doubtful), or he ignored it. When I requested a moment of his time he didn't invite me into the storehouse; he led me out into the kitchen gardens instead.

Haldir led me without speaking through the ivied archway into his private garden, taking the winding path along the clear running stream. Ferns perched in niches here and there on the soaring cavern wall gleamed damp and green above the stream in the cavern's glow. Birds that had found their way to the garden from the skylit grotto of the mallorn called delicately to each other and rustled in the small trees and shrubs around us. I had to run every few steps to keep up with Haldir, his pace was so swift. The silence between us was thick with unspoken thoughts, or maybe it was just that I was extremely uncomfortable. Rumil, of course, followed us.

The path widened into a small hillock with a white marble statue of a woman in long robes holding a young sapling in her hands. Benches were placed near the statue, arranged for quiet conversation. Several paths radiated from this point, and I could see Haldir's balcony just beyond. He chose this hillock to stop and wait for me silently. Clearly I was to speak first, and I wondered how to start. Rumil poked me in the ribs from behind, which did not help. I looked down a faint and seemingly minor path to a quiet fountain surrounded by white flowers that matched the ones in the bouquet that Joel had given me. The white flowers had looked out of place with the others in the bouquet. "The gardens are beautiful, My Lord," I began tentatively, "especially those pure white flowers over by the tall fountain. They look so soft, like velvet, and they smell heavenly."

Haldir looked directly down the path toward the flowers, giving me a perfect view of the proud, noble profile of his face. Maybe I should try to draw him again. "Their scent does not carry this far," Haldir said, turning back and appraising me curiously, "especially not to a mortal."

"I didn't say I could smell them from here, only that I know their scent," I replied, and looked at him expectantly. He said nothing. I had the delicate silver vase that I had found under my table by the door hidden in a large pocket in the folds of my gown.. I had a good idea who it had come from, and it hadn't been Joel. Joel obviously had no idea where these white flowers had come from: He wasn't a very good liar. And if Haldir had brought the flowers to me in the vase after he had pushed me away, then he must care for me after all, at least a little. But why would he leave them at my door and not return? And why wouldn't Rumil go away already?

Haldir looked at me strangely, I thought. "They have only been in bloom for two days. Perhaps beginning tomorrow, for a few more precious courses of Anar in the skies beyond, their perfume will carry throughout the caverns. These are the dearest to me of all the flowers in Arda, though their time is brief," he added quietly. Then his demeanor became formal and he turned away from the path, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "Was the purpose of your audience only to discuss flowers?" he demanded, staring at me with an all too familiar tone of challenge in his voice.

I was still upset at him for the way he had treated me. But what I had done had been so much worse. Painfully embarrassed, I told him that no, I wanted to apologize for my behavior of the night before. I had used poor judgment.

"Need I point out that you have risked losing the respect of your entire fellowship by your actions?" Haldir's velvet-smooth voice was quiet but reprimanding. His words cut deeply into what small amount of dignity I was trying to regain.

"No, you don't," I replied with difficulty. "But it's your respect that I fear losing and wish to repair the most."

Haldir's silent stare made me believe that I had lost his respect, just as I had feared. This was the one thing that I couldn't bear. My eyes dropped to the clover-covered ground between us.

"Look, I know it's not going to help, but. . . once you brought me huckleberries." I looked back up at him, hoping for some softening of his manner, but received none. "I wanted to give you something, so I made you this," I said, holding out the plate of fudge I had brought with me. I believe most of it was still left.

Haldir's eyes widened, and he looked most uncomfortably first at me, then pointedly at Rumil. "I thank you for your offer, but I cannot accept this," he said to me reluctantly. "It would be inappropriate."

"I don't understand," I said in confusion. What could be inappropriate about chocolate? Did he dislike it? "Please, I insist. Even Rumil has told me that I make the best fudge he's ever eaten," I urged him.

Haldir looked accusingly at Rumil, who actually shifted from one foot to the other. If not for the painful disappointment I felt, I would have been amused at his discomfort under his brother's stare. "Rumil has not informed you that such a gift is offered only from an elleth to an ellon as a token of the deepest affection?"

So, I thought, seeing Rumil's mouth twitch at the corners, this was why Rumil had come. He had set me up, the insufferable rat!

"Or," Haldir continued, "that even in moderate amounts chocolate is a powerful aphrodisiac to elves?"

"But Rumil has eaten half a plate of my fudge at a time!" I blurted out, staring at Rumil in shock. Haldir turned to him for an explanation.

"Well, it has always been for a good cause," Rumil replied slyly. I could have killed him.

This was just ridiculous. "My Lord," I appealed to Haldir, "won't you accept my gift in the spirit it's offered?" I told him I had given some – small pieces – to both Allinde and Vanimë. Haldir accepting my gift was terribly, probably irrationally, important to me. If he rejected me yet again, I didn't know what I would do. Fall apart, I supposed.

"In what spirit is this gift offered?" Haldir then asked, his eyes deep and probing. Suddenly I was tongue-tied. I did have romantic intentions of the deepest sort, as he surely already knew. How could I deny it? But after he had pushed me away last night, how could I admit it?

"Take the fudge, Haldir, before she drops it," Rumil urged him. "Stop being rude."

"Go away," Haldir and I both said to Rumil at the same time.

"I dread the thought of leaving you both to your own devices," Rumil said, shaking his head. He bowed dramatically to both me and his brother. "But I am here to serve," he sighed. Before I could stop him he snatched another piece of fudge from the platter. Haldir and I watched him retreat further up the path and around a corner, his posture clearly conveying offense at his dismissal.

"I'm sorry, I had no idea. I'll take it back to the kitchen," I apologized to Haldir and put the platter on a nearby bench. Obviously I still had a lot of learning to do about elvish customs. It seemed I was always stumbling on them in the most awkward ways.

"The fault is not yours," Haldir said with a wry glance in the direction where Rumil had disappeared. "I have reconsidered, and I accept your apology, and your gift. I will enjoy it: a very small amount at a time," he added with a quirk of his lip. Then his demeanor became serious. "The fault was also not entirely yours last night. I offer you my apology as well," he said with a small bow.

Relief flooded through me and finally I was able to smile at him, although I was still embarrassed by my performance last night and confused by Haldir's reaction to me. I decided to pull the silver vase from my pocket and put it in his strong hand, instantly feeling the warmth and electricity of his skin on mine. He looked at me, waiting, holding both the vase and my hand in his own. "Thank you," I whispered to him.

Haldir placed the vase at the base of the statue and moved to the edge of the hillock, touching a rose branch that twined along the tall latticed back of one of the benches. It had begun to leaf. In another month it would be Spring, and the lattice would be covered with tender foliage and rose buds.

"Tomorrow Rumil and I must leave for a short time," he said as he looked across the gardens.

"Do you have to go?" I asked. Time was passing so quickly, and I had already seen so little of him.

He turned and looked down at me with what I thought was a rather sad smile.

"How long must you be gone? My Lord, I have never seen so many people in the caverns. You told me it would only be a matter of months until you leave. . . and do not return. Please tell me exactly when this will happen – I can't bear not to know any longer."

"Yestarë – the first day of the new year and the first day of the new Yéni.. Such is the appointed time." He saw me frown and so he explained to me that because of their long lives the elves divided time into Yéni of one hundred and forty-four years. Cirdan the Shipwright had vowed that he would await a sign from Haldir at the first day of each Yéni and at such a time as Haldir's own choosing, Lord Cirdan would come for him and the elves that remained behind.

What kind of sign would he send, I wondered? So I asked him if he meant that he could signal Lord Cirdan the right time, but not the right place.

"The place. . . Mithlond, where I bid him namarie, Marian. The Grey Havens that we cannot find – that indeed no longer exist." Lord Haldir's posture remained straight and proud, but I felt a wrenching tone of doubt that belied his regal bearing.

"Mason has studied a great deal about the coast of California," I said. "We were talking one evening about it. He told me that 10,000 years ago the coastline was ten or twenty miles further west than where it is now – the Farallon Islands, off the coast of San Francisco, are some of its last remnants. Have you seen the islands?" I asked him hopefully.

"We have searched them, and many others. There is no sign, not even one that mortal men would not see. If Mithlond was near as we believe, then it has surely washed away to sea," he said, his voice filled such longing that I drew near to him and grasped his arm in support.

"But what about the signal?" I asked again. "How are you to signal him?"

"The way has closed," he said in a painful tone that only hinted at the extent of what he must feel inside.

I looked up into his dark, intoxicating eyes, eyes that haunted my every waking and sleeping moment, and saw in them something that I could not bear to see - self-recrimination, and doubt. My heart melted, and I felt a stab of fear that was not only for him and the elves. If Haldir – strong, wise and lordly Haldir of Methentaurond - could doubt himself, then where did that leave me? How could I be confident and decisive, with all my inexperience and weaknesses, if he could not? A horrible shame came over me for thinking so selfishly. Did he owe it to me to be absolutely perfect at all times? Didn't he have the right to a private moment of doubt if he needed it? Buoyed by the thought that he might actually need me at this moment, I reached up to touch his brow.

"Haldir," I savored his name, caressing his cheek and trying to think of what I could say to him that would give him comfort. It was clear that he couldn't wait yet another one hundred and forty-four years to try again - elves were sickening and dying, slowly and surely, one precious life at a time. This Yéni - this Yestarë - was their only hope.

"Haldir, please don't despair. Neither this Lord Cirdan nor the Valar themselves would allow you to be deserted here when you most need their help, I'm sure of it," I told him. "I have faith in the same Light that you have been so true to, though we call it by different names. I have faith in you."

"Have I been true, Marian?" he asked me, and my hand slid from his golden hair as he placed the vase on the bench and rose to stand before the statue. "This image honors Yavanna, Vala of all plants and animals upon Arda" he said with a bow to her. " Have I committed some transgression toward her or the others upon the White Hill, that the way should now be closed?" he asked the stone image, but it remained silent. "Or is it that I have done nothing? I have tarried too long. Must all of us, like Callo, now bear the fate of the Valar's displeasure at my inaction?"

"I cannot believe that the Valar would be displeased with you, Haldir. You are a good and honorable elf. You are wise and brave and steadfast. You have done great deeds and overcome immense obstacles; Lindir has told me so." I got up and stood by him, taking his hand. "There must be some other reason this has happened. Perhaps it is a test of your resolve. If it is, you will pass this test, Haldir. You will defeat whatever stands in your way, or you will find a way to go around it."

"Amrun nin," he whispered and, leaning down and cradling my neck, placed such a tender and unexpected a kiss on my forehead that I could barely keep from gasping.

"What did you say?" I asked, my thoughts whirling with the emotions of a dream I'd had on one of my first nights in Methentaurond. What had he called me?

Haldir stepped back and his eyes momentarily widened. Then he composed himself, I thought, with difficulty.

"I heard you say that to me once before, but it was in a dream," I admitted to him, hoping that he wouldn't shut me out, withdraw behind that door where he kept his feelings captive and slam it shut as he so often did. I refused to let go of his hand. Somehow this word he had called me was important, I knew it. "Please tell me what it means," I entreated.

"What was this dream?" he asked me instead, searching my face with a look so intense and demanding that I wouldn't have been able to refuse if I had wanted to. Pity the ancient enemy that might have fallen under this elf's interrogation!

"Haldir, you're hurting my hand," I said in surprise at his tightening grip. Instantly, he relaxed his fingers. Drawing me over to sit on the garden bench, he sat next to me, our knees slightly touching. He had not let go of my hand, but instead cradled it carefully in both of his, turning Rumil's ring slowly around my finger. "Tell me," he repeated in a calmer voice that gave me the confidence to proceed.

I told him how we had been together in the white and yellow flowers under the mallorn tree in the cavern, the warm sun shining down on us through the oculus and a cool breeze bending the grass, and he had said "amrun nin" to me. I still felt too vulnerable to tell him the intimate details. I didn't want to make either him or myself uncomfortable. Then the field of flowers had grown larger, I told him, almost so much that we seemed to be in a different place entirely. A place on a green hill, filled with a clean, clear light and a warm gentle breeze; a place that felt ageless, unchanging and pure, and always would remain just as I saw it with him in my dream.

"Elanor and niphredil. Ceren Amroth. We were in Lothlorien," Haldir said, his voice guarded but filled with wonder. "At sunrise, perhaps - at amrun."

"I don't think so," I said. "It was afternoon, I think, and you. . . well, I don't really remember." But I remembered perfectly well: warm, sensuous kisses; the length of his body pressing me into the grass; the flower he trailed down my neck; his whispered endearments. It still seemed so much more than a dream. And now he had whispered one of those same endearments here in his garden, and I was awake. He had called me his sunrise.

"Did we speak further, in your dream on the hill?" he asked me.

You told me to be patient," I replied, and tried to gauge his reaction.

His mouth parted slightly, and his eyes became slightly hooded. For a moment he said nothing. Then he released my hand and sat back. "Advice I have imparted to you before. It seems yet to have taken hold," he admonished me. I opened my mouth to protest, then closed it again. With Lord Haldir it is difficult for me to recognize criticism from very dry humor. I chose to decide that I was being teased.

"When is Yestarë?" I asked him.

"It is your 28th day of March."

"So soon?" I cried out before I could stop myself, and leaned toward him to grasp his knees as though I could somehow keep him from rising and leaving me. "But that is only weeks away!"

"Yes, Marian, it is," he said in a solemn tone. "I believe all who have chosen to come to Methentaurond to join us have arrived. Even now Turnaur stores provisions for our journey."

I panicked. "Haldir, there are some things that I simply can't be patient about, or wise, or strong." I thought, this could be my only chance. So, just like my swim in the Linluin, I dove in. Consequences be damned! "I know you have to leave. I know you long to go home at last, but you must allow me one moment of weakness to tell you that I can't bear to see you go! I just can't!" I cried, and I jumped up and walked to the edge of the stream, horrified that I was breaking down in front of him, being everything that he had tried to teach me not to be.

Then he was behind me, holding my shaking body against his chest, his arms warm and strong around mine, his long silken hair falling over my shoulder like a gleaming waterfall of gold.

"I love you," I gasped, and he stiffened against me. There it was: I had said it. There was no going back. Now he would have nothing but pity for me. No pride, no respect, but only pity. He would probably never touch me again, only ever see me again if he had to. I had ruined everything. I was surprised he hadn't already pushed me away.

"Amrun nin," he said, his warm voice falling over me like a soft blanket. His chest rose as he breathed in slowly against my back.

"I'm not asking you to say anything," I said brokenly. "I just think that when someone is loved, they deserve to know it."

With the heaviest of sighs, he turned me around and held my head firmly in his hands, forcing me to look into those fathomless eyes, dark and swirling with such a depth of emotion that I was almost afraid.

"To love is not a weakness, Marian. This dream," Haldir said to me with a tenderness that belied the turbulent storm behind his eyes and the pressure that I could see was welling beneath his chest. "You did not tell me all of it. Let me finish it for you. You did not tell me how we lay together in the warm grass," he began, and my eyes flew wide. How could he know? "or that I kissed your lips thus," he said, and I gasped again as he enfolded me in his arms and captured my lips softly with his own, warm and firm, "or your neck thus," he purred deeply as he trailed sweet, tender kisses down to my collarbone so slowly that I could hardly stand. "Or that the patience I demanded of you had nothing to do with the Lady, but with the woman who arched so eagerly beneath me."

"How. . . how do you know this?" I asked, feeling myself blush deeply and daring to hope that I was not dreaming even then.

"Because I know what you dreamed," he said, holding me tightly against him. He was breathing almost as heavily as I was, his nostrils flaring. "It was in my dream, too. That dream, and others that I now know we have shared. Together."

"But how is this possible?" I asked, wishing beyond reason that he would tell me that he loved me too. Hadn't Lindir told me that elves sometimes dreamed the same dreams as their mates, but after they had wed?

"I do not fully understand," he replied, drawing back from me, "how it is that our souls know and welcome each other's, yours and mine. Such a thing has never happened to me, not in all the ages I have lived," he said with awe. "And now you shame me to have hidden the depth of my love for you. I did not wish to hurt you. Understand, Marian, that I wish above all else in Arda to spare you this," he said in a tone now filled with both love and regret.

"To spare me what?" I asked him. "Haldir, I've been so confused. Sometimes I hope and think that you care for me; other times you shut me out completely. Now you tell me that you were trying to protect me by pretending not to love me?"

"Marian," he said tenderly and sadly, caressing my hair with his strong hands so that I closed my eyes with the pain and the pleasure of it.

"I hoped to spare you the bitter fruit of such a love as to love an elf. I believed that if I turned you away that you would look elsewhere, and be happy. But I see now that this is not to be. Some fate, some will much greater than mine draws us together. Nonetheless," he said unhappily, "the promise I have made to go into the West binds me stronger still, as your promise must bind you to your companions. I cannot give you what your heart needs; I cannot leap to the call that your soul so stubbornly bids me to, though I stand at every moment on the very brink of falling. For to fall could be the ruin of all here under my care. I have sworn an oath; I cannot stay."

I opened my eyes again, and saw with that a single tear was falling down his cheek, and I reached to his face and wiped it away, my heart swelling with love for him.

"I know," I said simply. "But we can be together now, and cherish the memory of each other after you have gone. We still have a little time, at least, to love each other, if that is what you want."

"Do not ask this of me! In dreams only do I dare to love you as I would in waking. I will not dishonor you, only to turn away and leave you alone," he said firmly as though he was assuring himself of the fact.

"Haldir," I reassured him, "you could never dishonor me." But he shook his head.

Then I asked him, although I knew that he would say no: "Let me come with you tomorrow, please."

"You know your place is here, with your companions," he said with wrenching finality. "Go now and repair with them the damage you have wrought. Take Rumil with you. We will speak more of this later."

"But Rumil has gone," I said, looking all around the garden and wishing I didn't have to go.

"He is waiting just ahead around the bend," Haldir told me, and of course he was.

/i 

i 

All the rest of the morning and the afternoon I was unbearably happy and unbearably sad all at once: Haldir loved me! Haldir refused to love me! I had spoken before my audience with Haldir to Yasmin, Roger, and Sandy. After I forced myself to walk away from him - every step one of sheer will and determination, feeling pulled back toward him like a magnet but knowing I had to find Rumil and complete what I had started - I followed Haldir's advice and sought out Arianna; and even Joel. I apologized to them all, and assured them that I wouldn't repeat such a drunken exhibition again, with anyone. Dieter was still outside so I couldn't talk to him. Joel said that I had nothing to be sorry for; soon I would realize that the wine had only released me to act out my true desires. I'm losing patience with him. I think I'll stay away from him for a while.

Only Mason refused outwardly to forgive me. He was convinced that Joel now had unlimited access and influence over me, and told me so in quite an unflattering manner. Now if I take Mason's side in anything he'll think I'm trying to pacify him; if I take Joel's side, he'll think I'm being a tramp. Unfortunately it seems like no matter what the subject, Mason and Joel express directly opposite opinions, so there is little to be won in either case. To have put myself in such a weak position is my own damned fault. Haldir was right to be disappointed in me. I had my own opinion, of course, my own judgment. I must try to keep it separate from my concerns over how they would react to my decisions. I could do this, I knew. In my job – my former job - I'd always been the negotiator, the one in the middle who must stay objective and render decisions fairly for all. I caould do the same now. Even so, I knew that despite the others' words of assurance I still had a long way to go to regain their complete trust, to convince them that I wouldn't now unfairly favor Joel.

By the time that I arrived in the Hall for dinner I was emotionally and physically exhausted. Surprisingly, neither Vanimë nor Lord Haldir disappeared through that arch at the back of the Hall after the meal. They both stayed to hear Lindir continue the tale of Beren and Luthien, the mortal and the elf that were so in love with each other, and retrieved a Silmaril together. Was Haldir staying this one time because of the feelings he'd revealed to me in the morning? They sat across the short width of the Hall from me and Rumil, where we could clearly see each other. Haldir gave me a solemn, thoughtful nod. Vanimë nodded as well. I felt her eyes studying me, until Lindir began and she turned in his direction.

Not until Lindir was well into weaving the tale of the frightful flight from Morgoth's stronghold, Angband, and the retrieval of the Silmaril from that horrible, monstrous dog that had guarded its Gate; not until Lindir sang of Beren standing before Thingol and being granted Luthien's hand, did I realize the full import of what it meant for an elf to give her heart to a mortal. Had I even been listening to Lindir until now? All of these nights that he had sung of these two lovers, had I refused to hear and see what he was telling of in my mind's eye? The words came tumbling like a rock slide down onto the small, frail temple of my heart: Luthien had given her very immortality, the very essence of her being, to love Beren. She had chosen to become a mortal, doomed to die to stay with him.

I turned to look at Haldir, finding it difficult to breathe and feeling a leaden weight settle from my heart to the pit of my stomach. He was looking back at me, his eyes shining too brightly, his features too tightly controlled. So this is what he meant when he said that he couldn't give his heart to me; that he couldn't leave if he did. With wrenching clarity, I finally saw what loving me would do to him.

It's so unfair! Why does it have to be this way? I'm sorry I'm saying it, but God isn't fair – the Valar aren't fair! Why do we dream of each other if we're fated to be apart? I don't believe in fate; I don't. I believe people make their own lives. Still, Haldir won't have a life if he loves me – no life at all. Lindir's voice and harp faded into oblivion. My heartbeat pounded in my ears. I drank in every ounce of Haldir that I could at that moment. It was a split second suspended in time that I think I will carry with me always. This was the turning point, this moment. I loved him, more deeply than I could fathom, but I would have to give up my hopeless fantasies of him, and move on. I lied to myself that I would be able to do it; that I would be able to stop dreaming through every moment of every day and night of being loved in return by this magnificent elf.

I saw Haldir rise to come toward me. I shook my head no. I was afraid for him to be near me; terrified for him to touch me, of what it might do to him. I saw him stop sharply as though I had physically struck him, and my vision blurred; perhaps I went numb. The next I knew, Rumil was with me in my talan, stroking my hair and rocking me back and forth. I remember staring at the wall; burying my cheek in his shoulder. I remember asking him why he could make love to all those women and not lose his immortality, but Haldir couldn't. He told me that except for that part of it that he reserved for me and the rest of his family, his heart was his own. He didn't know if Haldir could make love to me without losing his heart. It seemed to me that Haldir had already decided that he couldn't. Always the flatterer, Rumil said that it wouldn't be easy for anyone to love me without losing their heart. Then he added, "except for Joel." That made us both laugh. I don't know what I'll do without Rumil when he leaves. I'm sure I lean on him too much.

/i 

i 

February 17

I remember waking up and feeling hopeless, and sick. Haldir and Rumil have gone, and I've caught a nasty cold. Who knows where it came from - obviously not from the elves. I'm staying in my talan today, in bed. I just can't face anything or anyone right now.

Allinde came by earlier to see why I had not come to the library, saw that I'm sick, and panicked. I had to promise her that I'm not going to follow Callo's example and fade away; that I'll get over it in a few days and would she please excuse me for being grumpy and tell everyone to leave me alone. Instead, my sweet elvish friend went straight to Lomion and Joel. All three of them came back, with Narwen and chicken broth in tow. I looked like hell, and I didn't want company. I just wanted to sit here in my blankets and feel sorry for myself, for numerous reasons.

Lomion and Allinde fussed over me, all the while Lomion lamenting that elvish medicine and the infusions that he and Joel were working on were for injuries, not sickness, unless it were some sickness of the soul - light forces versus dark, the Valar against Morgoth, that kind of thing, I suppose. I wasn't paying much attention. I did catch the main point that if I had been stabbed in the heart by a poisoned Orc blade that the elves could help me, but they had no magic remedies for a stuffed-up nose and a pounding sinus headache.

In the meantime Joel stood with his arms crossed in front of his chest and stared at my bleary eyes and red nose. When Lomion was done fussing, Joel declared that there should be no cure or easing of discomfort for the common cold: Colds made mortals strong to fight off "real" sicknesses. I, Marian, would just have to tough it out and quit complaining. This last pronouncement seemed to be delivered with a large measure of glee. It seems I was receiving payback for my rejection of our doctor last night.

I don't recall complaining, only asking to be left alone. I gratefully accepted the soup from Narwen. Then I threw them out.

Later, because she just couldn't help herself, Allinde stopped in one more time and left a book on my chair. She said that she was there if I needed to talk; I had but to call for her. I coughed back a doubtful "thank-you, mother," which made her laugh like pretty tinkling bells. There's nothing she can say or do to change anything, but I'm grateful to her for trying to raise my spirits nonetheless.

/i 

Of course I overheard Marian and Haldir in the garden. I was glad that Haldir had not traded Marian's heart for the good of Methentaurond. I had known that he had too good a heart not to tell her in the end, once he saw what I already knew - that Marian's love for him was as steadfast and undeniable as the star of Elendil was bright. Still, I wished out loud as we jogged under the silver vessel of the moon down the forest trail toward the sea, that he would tell Marian that she had grown immeasurably in her new role. Haldir slowed to run beside me and agreed that she was unusually humble for a mortal – her ambitions were for Methentaurond, not for herself. He was sure she could become even better and wiser in the few weeks we had left. And she had ground to recover with the Fellowship. Arda's greatest need was for him to teach Marian to be a better leader than he was after he was gone. If he gave her too much approval, now that we were so near the end, she would stop fighting to succeed. He would not squander that precious time by placating her.

Haldir moved ahead of me again on the trail before I could give him a well-deserved scowl. I told myself I must be patient. Though I was concerned for Marian's confidence about her abilities, she was tough and persistent, most so when driven to prove herself. It was not her fledgling belief in herself that tugged at my heart; it was what her love for Haldir was doing to her own.

Like Vanimë and Orophin, I had put my trust in my brother's wisdom countless times and had never been disappointed. I would continue to do so now.

I flew along the faint path behind Haldir, eventually basking in the freedom and joy of running through the cool, green forest. Spring was near, I could smell it; feel it in the damp earth under the trees. Arda was awakening from the sleep of winter; under the ground, inside the kelvar and olvar where it could still be felt but not seen, gathering itself to shower for a brief time those golden buds and shoots that would so quickly turn to green. Ah, the golden mellyrn of Lothlorien! How I missed them! Yet Tar Caranorn was quiet, stately and beautiful, and its trees had welcomed us. It was a fair home in its own way.

i 

February 18

I've been so sick I forgot all about the jewel. Today I coughed my way over to the alcove and checked the box, expecting the jewel to have burned through to China by now. I was astonished to see that the box has not been damaged at all. What a relief, and a mystery. The jewel seems to have found a home in the ancient mallorn wood of the box. I don't think I need to worry about its safe-keeping any more.

I feel better just looking at it. If Mason ever saw this he'd drop his fascination with the lanterns in a second: All the more reason to keep it secret, and safe.

/i 

i 

February 19

Finally today I felt well enough physically to join Allinde, Sandy, Arianna and Yasmin at the baths. I didn't want to leave my talan, but I would have to face the world sometime, and I really had no more excuses that anyone would believe. Besides, who knew what trouble Mason and Joel had been up to while I'd been sick. Bickering again, Sandy told me. "About what?" I asked, and Arianna replied, "About almost everything." If she were me, Sandy said, she would get back on her feet as soon as possible. Besides, she laughed, everyone was tired of listening to them gripe about each other, especially Vanimë.

I eased stiffly into the pool where the water was the hottest, and closed my eyes in relief as my muscles began to relax. This was exactly what I needed. I felt for the nearest vial of soap and held it under my nose, grateful that I could actually smell its floral scent, a little. But Allinde took it away and handed me another whose eucalyptus essence I breathed in deeply.

Sandy lathered herself and declared that these were the loveliest soaps she had ever smelled. She asked Allinde how she had made them. Allinde explained that they were made from natural plant oils, not chemicals and artificial scents. She would teach Sandy how to make them if she wished. I commented that eucalyptus oil must be hard to come by, since it grew much further south, near the coast. Rumil would occasionally bring it to her when he traveled, Allinde explained.

"These must be the most expensive soaps on the planet," Yasmin said. "Not many people can afford to have things of this quality where I come from."

"The love and care put into their making make them worth having. Mortals need to slow down and enjoy the quality of life more."

"No one has time to have quality in everything," Yasmin argued. "Most soaps are made as cheaply and quickly as possibly for the most profit."

"So this profit – this money – does it make your life more enjoyable?" Allinde asked.

"No. But it's difficult to take more time to achieve quality when you have less than a hundred years to live," Yasmin said.

"Is it not the quality of time that is important," Allinde replied, clearly not understanding Yasmin's point of view, "not the amount? Is not what we are doing now together worth the time spent doing it?"

"Yes!" Arianna said, and splashed Sandy.

"Each elf has special tasks to perform, to free others to pursue their own interests. Do not mortals also?" Allinde asked us.

Sandy replied, "Yes, but there isn't time to do all of the fun things in life, to nourish the spirit when we have to work so much. Believe me, we would if we could."

Allinde tilted her head quizzically at Sandy. "Why do mortals separate their spirits from the concerns of their minds and bodies? It isn't healthy. Perhaps," she said to me with a sudden thought, "that is why you get sick! We thank the Valar every day, and put our love for them into everything we do."

Yasmin rolled her eyes. I would have kicked her if she'd been close enough. "You can't be objective when religion is imposed on reality. Have you SEEN the Valar?"

"What you call religion," Allinde raised her chin and answered as if to a child, "we see in each leaf, each drop of water every moment. Your science, your religion – all are part of the same reality. To separate them is to lose perspective, lose the path to the Light. No,we have not seen one of the Valar or Maiar in Arda for a very long time, not in the form they take when they wish to be seen. No mortal I have known has ever seen them. Yet they are part of the earth all around us. Mortals, even the faithful, you are in too much of a hurry perhaps to see this. I do not know if I can help you see, but I can help you learn how to hear again. You have only forgotten how. You must learn to slow down, and listen."

"How?" Yasmin said in exasperation. "Are you going to have us all meditate or something?"

"That may be a path for some of you. I do not yet know," Allinde replied with an effort I had not seen her need before. She seemed tired. Or perhaps Yasmin's challenges had lessened her usually ebullient frame of mind.

Sandy, thankfully, interrupted and made us all laugh. "Wow, who knew what talking about soap would lead to around here?"

Allinde stayed behind with me for a moment after the others had left.

"Rumil spoke to me before he left," she said. "If you wish, you can come to the library at any time, and we can talk by the fire."

I hugged her and thanked her for being such a good friend, though I knew there was nothing she could do.

"You seem tired," I told her. "Is there anything that I can do for you?"

"Oh, only just a little," she laughed. "I wish to take a few books to Valinor with me. I am having more trouble than you can imagine deciding which ones. Perhaps you can come to the library tomorrow and help me decide."

I agreed, and told her she should take as many as she wished.

"The journals of the Elves in Arda should remain in Arda, with you and the others," she insisted. "I trust you all to use them well. I will only be taking a few – small books of poetry and verse."

/i 

i 

February 20

Rumil and Haldir have only been gone a few days, but I miss them both terribly. When my hands are idle – which isn't often – I draw to keep from pacing through Methentaurond worrying about them. I think I've finally drawn a likeness of Lord Haldir that I can be proud of. It is a portrait of him in the red cloak and armor that are displayed in his study, with an abstract background of the white flowers he loves so much. I did it while sitting high in the mallorn tree in the cavern one afternoon. Silly, I know, but it comforts me to sit in the branches of this tree that I know loves him too. I showed it to Sandy and she told me that I have captured his eyes and regal bearing. She agreed that it would be a fine present for him when he returns.

/i 

i 

February 21

It was while I was walking along the lake to the greenhouses this morning that I overheard a most amusing conversation. Afraid I might be becoming more like Rumil every day, I stopped just out of sight at the door to the nearest greenhouse and listened anyway.

"Yasmin, what ARE you doing?" Joel asked as he entered through another door.

"Be quiet, doctor. I'm trying to listen to a tree," Yasmin replied. I clamped my hand over my mouth to keep from whooping for joy.

"Are you serious? I see that you are. And what does the tree have to say?"

"It says to make you go away so we can continue our conversation in private. Now quit ruining the moment."

"Yasmin is talking to trees," Joel marveled to Roger as he, too, entered the greenhouse.

Roger replied quite matter-of-factly, "Of course she is. I talked to my trees all the time in Chile."

"Yes, but they didn't talk back, now did they?" Joel scoffed.

"Didn't they?" Gladrel asked calmly as she approached the group from one of the herb beds, her feet silently stepping on the gravel path. "They told you when they were happy, or sick, or thirsty. . . "

"Yes, but those things are obvious to any gardener," Roger said. "Still, sometimes when their boughs swayed in the breeze, I almost thought I could hear them whisper to each other," he said with a bit of homesickness in his voice."

"I feel the same about the redwoods," I added, walking in the door.

"Why wouldn't you expect this one to speak to Yasmin?" Gladrel asked Joel. "She at least is trying to listen to it."

"Then please excuse the interruption," Joel said impatiently. "It's you I'm looking for anyway," he said to me. "Lomion and I would like you to try something."

"Alright," I said curiously. "What's this about?"

"I'll tell you on the way. It isn't urgent," he assured the others as he took my arm, "just an experiment."

"Is anything wrong?" I asked Joel as he urged me along the path by the lake. "Do we need to hurry?"

"Just professional curiosity," he said vaguely. "That, and Dieter may be somewhat uncomfortable."

"What are you talking about?" I demanded, stopping and shaking my arm loose from Joel's grasp. "I won't go one step further until you tell me."

"Alright, alright," he raised his hands defensively. "In a nutshell: Dieter just returned with Orodren and the other wardens from their shift in the woods. Dieter was hurt. . . no, don't overreact, he just has a minor gash on his arm from descending a tree flet on the way back: He hit a branch on the way down. Quite embarrassing for him, I'm sure, but not serious, just painful. I'm sure those nasty redwood slivers sting like hell. The others brought him straight to Lomion since they were so close to home."

"Why do you need me?" I asked as I resumed walking quickly along with Joel. "He should have been healed before now. What's Lomion waiting for?"

"For you," Joel said with a sly grin, and he wouldn't tell me anything more until we reached Lomion's talan. By then I was thoroughly angry at him.

"Dieter!" I exclaimed as I entered and saw him lying on the bed with his arm propped up on Lomion's lap. There was a short but nasty and swollen rip in the flesh on the inside of his upper arm. "Lomion, whatever is going on?" I asked the gentle elf presiding over him with a poultice of herbs.

"Come, Hiril Marian," Lomion said, and getting up, he waved me into his chair and rested Dieter's arm on my lap. Joel and Lomion drew two other chairs up to Dieter's bed. Lomion handed me the poultice. I had no idea what to do with it. I felt stupid, sitting there with Dieter's injured arm on my lap and a doctor on each side of me – all I could think of was that Joel must have finally driven Lomion stark raving mad.

"It's alright Marian," Dieter told me. "I agreed with them that we should wait for you. It doesn't hurt – too much. My pride hurts a lot more," he chuckled.

"Is someone going to tell me what's going on?" I threatened.

"I tried to do it but it doesn't work for me. Lomion thought, since you are an adaneth – from a long line of elf-friends, as he puts it - that you might be able to heal him," Joel explained, sort of.

"Heal him how? You're the doctors," I said to Lomion.

"You are descended from both Arwen Undomiel and King Aragorn," Lomion said. "Though an age and more has passed and you may not know it, perhaps you still have something of their healing abilities." I thought of Haldir healing my arm, and purifying the waters of the Linluin. Could I really learn to do the same?

"You are perhaps the only one I might pass this skill on to," Lomion said hopefully, and he cleaned my left hand with herbs and a bowl of warm water. "Place your hand on Dieter's wound, and close your eyes."

I did what Lomion told me to, and listened to his hypnotic voice guiding me. "Breathe deeply. Focus only on my voice and on your hand that lies on Dieter's skin. Clear your mind of all other thoughts. Breathe. Feel as one with Arda, the plants, the trees, the ocean waves, the clouds, the rivers. Breathe, breathe with the sighing winds on the face of the Sea. Now reach out to the Valar with your heart and your mind. Feel the grace that is given to you. Feel the Light of Iluvatar welling up inside of you. Now take hold of that Light, move it from your mind, down your shoulder, down your arm and into your hand. Feel the warmth and energy moving out to your fingertips. Now push it gently out of your palm, your fingers, into Dieter's wound. Infuse him with it; let it make him whole again."

I heard only Lomion's voice and the pressure of my palm on Dieter's arm. I breathed deeply, and visions of the ocean and the redwoods, sunsets and sun-sparkled streams I had known appeared in my mind's eyes, fading and growing into each other. I felt my heart and my mind fill with warmth, and a glowing energy I tried to identify, but couldn't. Wrapping my mind around this feeling as best I could, I actually felt it travel down my arm to my hand, and the tips of my fingers warmed like I was holding them comfortably over a glowing fire. Then, the sensation was gone. Blinking to clear my mind, I opened my eyes as if awaking from sleep, and removed my hand from Dieter's arm. The wound was still there, raw as ever, and Lomion sighed.

"But I felt it, Lomion, I really did," I said as I put the poultice back on Dieter's arm, sorry to disappoint him. "I felt something."

"Most likely it was just hypnotic suggestion, Marian," Joel said gently.

"Yes, do not be sorry, it was a worthy attempt," Lomion said. Removing the poultice and placing his own hands on Dieter's arm, his aura brightening momentarily, he healed Dieter's arm himself, to Dieter's amazed thanks.

"It seems," Joel said in disappointment as he examined Dieter's arm, "that there are some things that we aren't meant to learn; some things in the elves' natures that they simply can't pass to us." And he thanked Lomion for trying.

"But there are many things that we can continue to teach you, and you are the best of students," Lomion said to Joel. "Come back this afternoon, and we will continue. You, guardian," he said to Dieter as he escorted us out of his talan, "are now free to go as well."

"Until later, guardian," I praised Dieter as we walked across the nearest bridge and he took a side trail: straight to the library and Arianna was my guess.

"Well, in a way it's good that I can't heal people like the elves do," I said to Joel.

"You would be a sensation," he said temptingly.

"I would be a freak. We would never be taken seriously. Our Fellowship would be considered a complete hoax."

Joel stopped and spread his arms wide to encompass the caverns. 'Come one and all to the revival tent tonight and see the amazing Marian.' "

"The Cult of Marian."

"Marian the Mysterious."

"We could charge admission."

From the Song "Time in a Bottle," by Jim Croce

Anar: the sun.


	32. Ch 32: The Vigils of Knowing and Seekin...

Title: The Tale of Marian

Chapter: 32?

Rating: PG13 this chapter.

Pairing: OFC/Haldir

Genre: Adventure/Romance/perhaps a little Angst

Timeline: AU, modern times.

Beta: None this chapter.

Feedback: Welcomed, appreciated. Constructive criticism always appreciated.

Warnings: None.

Author's Notes: This is a work in progress.

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1 for disclaimer.

THE TALE OF MARIAN

Chapter 32 - The Vigils of Knowing and Seeking

i 

February 28

I noticed, like everyone else in our Fellowship did, that when we began to discuss how we'd keep Methentaurond running after the elves left, Mason and Joel distinctly different and rigid viewpoints on how things should be done. Both of them were directly contrary to mine, to my surprise, but I listened because I valued their opinions.

Joel and Mason both told me that once the elves left we'd have to tell the rest of the world about this place immediately. With only eight of us, they said, there was no way that we could maintain the gardens, the kitchens, the structures, for even a short time before we'd need an army of help. Not to mention the infrastructure that would have to be created, the computers and other delicate electronic equipment that would have to be brought in to make this a real research center that the world would be proud of and, not insignificantly, that each of us would become famous for.

Why was it that they were the only two who had lost track of what this place needed to be in order for it not to be ruined, its lessons lost? Methentaurond, and Tar-Caranorn as well, had to remain a sanctuary, I reminded them. Mason himself, I said in disbelief, had said that we'd been living in a rare intact ecosystem of which we were all a functioning part. Methentaurond had cleansing air and water; it regulated its own climate; it maintained fertile soil; it controlled pests; it provided a beneficial habitat and created no pollution: an almost perfect, and delicate, balance. And, I added, our research was going just fine. Slow, but just fine. There would be no computers, no electronics. I put my foot down on that. Nothing would change. Nothing. Outside of these caverns, further away, if we had to we could set up a separate research facility with the equipment we and others would need. But not here. Never.

And what about security, Dieter said vehemently. If we told the world before we had protective status of some official kind, we'd be overrun. There'd be no stopping the curious and the treasure-seekers, the greedy and the innocent alike, from destroying it underfoot before they could even try to understand what it was.

I reminded them about my friend Matt – that he was on the "outside" working for this very protection. Until we could contact him and assure ourselves that we were protected, we didn't dare tell anyone. And until we had an organization, a plan for how visitors and researchers could and couldn't use this incredible treasure, and the means to allow it to happen, it would be folly to tell anyone.

Thankfully the rest of our Fellowship strongly agreed. Sandy related how the tombs of Egypt had been sacked by treasure hunters, tourists, scientists and historians too eager and too careless to think ahead, removing and damaging centuries of art before it could be studied in its proper context.

Those things were delicate and fragile, Roger pleaded, but not nearly as fragile as the delicate ecosystem the elves had perfected and continued through the ages.

Yasmin told heartrending stories of small isolated villages whose "discoverers" had changed the inhabitants irretrievably even while they worked diligently to study them as they were before they were found. Whole cultures had been lost.

Still, in spite of everyone else's protests that we weren't ready yet, that we had to find a way to protect this place before we could tell people about it, they persisted. It was the way to do this, not simply that it had to be done, that they argued heatedly with each other and the rest of us about.

We were scared, that was obvious. It was a huge undertaking, we had all known that. But now that it was so close, it felt bigger than we had ever imagined; too big to get our hands around. We could do it, I told them. We would develop a plan that we could all agree on. We would take it one step at a time, and we would succeed.

"We'll succeed as long as we succeed YOUR way, you mean," Mason fumed.

"The way we agreed to succeed from the beginning," I told him and Joel firmly.

I'm so tired. Though I have the support of most of our group, this is my battle to wage. When did I allow it to become a battle instead of a common cause? Could I have kept it from becoming one? I feel so alone. I feel like everything is unraveling around me, and I don't know how to hold it together. When Haldir and Rumil return, will we be falling apart at the seams?

/i 

i 

March 1

It's been two weeks since Haldir and Rumil left for the world of Men – my world. For the hundredth time I prayed that they were safe. I pace the cavern paths – the waterfalls, Haldir's garden, the river where we used to swim together. I see Haldir's ghost everywhere, in every thing I touch or smell or see. I imagine him climbing the path to the waterfalls, gazing at them through the mist as he has begun to do daily. I walk to the clearing by the greenhouses and close my eyes, remembering him lifting me into the vat of grapes and holding me there by my waist, grinning and teasing me. Two weeks. Two weeks and I miss his presence so much that it's almost physically painful. How will I survive when he leaves for good?

They should be returning any day, any minute, I tell myself over and over. I stared at my drawing of him again today. His image in my mind has slowly begun to fade. His features are clear in some areas, blurred in others – when I need them to be crystal clear, forever. I had drawn him, in secret at first, then, when I saw that it was not in secret at all, openly. I had studied every curve, every angle, every plane, every slight change of expression. And still my memory has begun to betray me. Even this drawing is lacking. Yes, I find portraits extremely difficult – one misplaced line and the whole person changes. But it's the subject most of all. Haldir's essence can never be adequately captured in a drawing or a photograph. Yet I asked and received Sandy's permission to photograph the elves, Haldir especially, with some of her precious film. I hope I can convince him to sit for me.

I found my feet carried me late this evening to the first bridge between my talan and the path to Haldir's quarters. From this vantage point the telain of the caverns spread away and slightly below into the evening mist. I stopped on the bridge and followed the path downward with my eyes, then up along the series of lantern- lit bridges that led to his terrace suspended in the tree-columns, dim and unlit in the gathering night. Facing the terrace I closed my eyes for several moments, summoning the image of him as I had seen him last in that spot, and slowly opened my eyes.

He was there. Still as a statue he stood, silhouetted by the lamps inside his talan that must have been lit just as I closed my eyes. His hands resting on the railing, he was turned partially away from me so that I could see only a glimpse of his profile. So still was he that I blinked purposefully to make sure he was really there. Then, as if sensing my gaze, he straightened back from the railing and turned. Across the bridge, across the gap between us, his eyes locked on mine.

My heart leaped. I stood transfixed for a moment. Then breaking his gaze, I found myself moving across the bridge and down the winding paths toward him. My feet flew. No matter the distance he steadfastly maintained between us, no matter his disappointment in me, I would welcome him this moment, tell him how much I had missed him, longed for his company. He could rebuff me, I no longer cared. He was a magnet. He was the flame and my heart was the moth. I couldn't have stopped myself from going to him if I had tried.

I rushed across the last low bridge to the steps that rose to the terrace's arched entrance, heavy now with both thorns and new foliage. Suddenly nervous, I climbed the steps, eager to see above the horizon of the terrace floor once more, eager to see him. I emerged through the arch and looked hungrily around the terrace.

He was gone.

I knew that he had seen me start toward him across the bridge. Where was he? Perhaps he had momentarily gone inside. I smiled. I supposed that he hadn't expected me to run, to get there so quickly. The door to his study stood open, so I stopped at the threshold and called his name. Hearing the low murmur of voices, I walked through the study to the arched entrance to the front room, calling first his name, then Rumil's and Vanimë's. Why, I thought, hadn't Rumil come to tell me he had returned?

A cloak lay across an ottoman, two bedrolls nearby on the floor as though they had been carelessly dropped. Haldir was never careless. I heard voices again, several in fact, but the sound carried into the front room through the open front door of Haldir's talan. The voices sounded angry, though I couldn't make out the words. Feeling like I was trespassing but worried that something was wrong, I rushed through the room and its equally deserted entry court, and onto the path outside. The voices were coming from the Great Hall. One of the angry ones was Mason's.

I don't know why I didn't notice that things had gone so very wrong between Joel and Mason. Their rivalry had become cold and bitter, like an iceberg in a frozen sea. But I hadn't seen the true bulk of the iceberg below the surface of the water, I guess. Not until now. And now I have a very difficult decision to make.

/i 

We reached Haldir's talan near dusk, travel-weary and more than ready to bathe. Haldir went first through his talan onto the terrace to look over his gardens- one of the things he missed most when he was away, and the first thing he always returned to whenever he came back. Of course, it also had a good view of Marian's talan.

I stopped in the entry to shed my cloak and follow him, when I heard yelling and a cry for help from the Great Hall that sounded like Vanimë's. Vanimë rarely had the need to call for help, especially not within the caverns. Haldir came inside – he had heard her as well. We dropped everything and ran for the Hall.

What we saw when we got there was not at all pretty. Joel and Mason were being pried apart with great difficulty by Dieter and Vanimë, while the rest of the assembled diners looked on in shock. Seeing Haldir enter, those assembled bowed and parted to let us through. Meanwhile, Turnaur yelled that the knives on the table were for eating with, not trying to kill each other with, dodging both men's vicious attempts to stab each other while he tried to take the knives away. Lindir and others joined in to help separate the two, and Haldir and I saw that our assistance was not needed. Mason's awe for Vanimë had all but disappeared: He and Joel struggled violently, spitting obscenities at each other and those who would hold them. They had just been separated when Marian burst into the Hall. Those around us shifted to give her a wide view of the spectacle, as if to say "See what you have done by bringing these mortals here?"

Marian walked slowly toward us, trying to take in what was happening. I stepped toward her in support, but Haldir raised his hand to stop me. Furious as he clearly was, his signal told me that he expected Marian to handle this serious transgression by herself.

Marian stopped in front of us first and bowed her head to Haldir. I could not have been prouder of her for this. I could see the emotions play across her face – joy at our return, shock, embarrassment, anger, revulsion, sadness. Haldir looked pointedly from Marian to the still-defiant pair held back by Dieter and Vanimë, but he didn't need to. Marian had already turned toward them, her shoulders shaking with anger, her eyes shooting daggers. Instead of making her appear weak, this somehow made her appear larger than life, a Vala bent on wielding justice. When Joel and Mason saw her face, they immediately stopped struggling. I doubt they had ever seen Marian like this – I certainly never had.

"How could you? Don't speak!" she ordered, and her voice rang through the Hall. "How could you defile these peaceful Halls with such violence? How could you insult these generous people who have opened their homes to us? You've humiliated yourselves and our entire Fellowship, no, the entire race of Men, by doing this. If eight people can't live and work peacefully in Methentaurond, how can we expect the entire world to do so? Has your obsession with besting each other become so important that you'd throw away everything we've worked for to. . . to beat each other senseless? To really harm each other?"

"No elf has ever touched another in anger within these caverns, nor elsewhere in Arda in my memory," Vanimë spoke into the silence that followed Marian's words.

"Nor spoken words of such darkness and wrath," Lindir added.

"It wasn't I who. . . " Mason began, but another look from Marian silenced him. She turned to Haldir, so embarrassed that I felt deeply sorry for her. "My Lord, I am truly sorry for their actions, and I hold myself accountable for them. I will accept whatever judgment you deem fitting."

"Marian, you can't possibly let him tell you what to. . . " Joel began, but Dieter, who still held him, squeezed his arms behind his back. "Shut up, Joel," Dieter hissed.

My brother, however, replied in a severe tone to Marian, "The judgment shall be yours."

Marian's eyes widened momentarily in surprise. Then she looked at me, squared her shoulders, and turned toward Mason and Joel. I would not want to have been them.

"Dieter, Vanimë, please have these gentlemen scholars escorted to two very separate unused telain where they will stay under guard until I see fit to render my decision."

"With pleasure," Dieter replied.

"You're sending us to JAIL?" Joel cried out incredulously.

"Without even giving us a chance to defend ourselves?" Mason added with indignation. "You have no right!"

"Really," Marian said coldly. "I'll give you each a chance to explain yourselves tomorrow, if you can manage to cool down by then. In the meantime, try to maintain whatever dignity you both have left by going with Dieter peacefully."

"What are you going to do?" I asked her quietly after they had been taken from the Hall.

"I know what I have to do, but I don't know how to do it," she replied uncertainly. "It's complicated. Will you come now with me to talk to the others?"

"Of course, darling," I assured her with a wink. "I will follow you anywhere."

"Don't call me darling," she growled, and I knew she was alright.

Marian and I and the rest of the Fellowship - those of us not in detention, that is - excused ourselves from Haldir and gathered in Marian's talan. She hadn't seen how the fight had started, she said, and asked us all to tell her what we had seen. The resulting comments were sketchy and contradictory, but Marian's conclusion was the same as my own.

"One of them has to leave," she said. "We can't afford to lose both of them."

"If we kick one of them out, he'll be angry and tell someone about us," Arianna worried for all of us. "We can't let anyone find out about us before Rumil and the other elves leave, and not even after."

"We could blindfold him and lead him out, like we were led in. That way he wouldn't be able to find his way back," Sandy offered.

"He'd still guess close enough to blanket the whole area with a search," Dieter said as he came in to join us. "Even if the authorities thought he was nuts, they'd still be on the alert. Not to mention all of the crazies that would start wandering all over the woods - this story would be even bigger than Bigfoot. There'd be no way that almost two hundred of you could leave under those conditions," he said to me.

"The elves are leaving in three weeks," Marian reminded us all. "We'll have to keep them both here until at least then. I really don't have any authority to jail either one of them, and I suppose I could be arrested for it later. But that seems like the only thing we can do right now. Then later we'll have to do as Sandy says, and lead one of them out."

"Which one?" Roger asked. "They're both indispensable."

"I know, Roger," Marian told him with a sigh, "but we've all agreed that none of us can function with both of them fighting all of the time. I'll talk to each of them in the morning. I'll be as fair as I can."

i 

March 2

I wasn't thrilled with either Joel or Mason, or what either one of them told me when I gave them a chance to explain. It did cross my mind more than once that this was the perfect opportunity to rid myself of Joel's unwelcome advances, but that wouldn't be fair or impartial. It turned out that it was something else entirely that made up my mind.

I was sitting in total indecision on a rock that overlooked the waterfalls when Vanimë sat next to me and stared at the water. I hadn't heard her coming, but at least she didn't startle me so much that I fell off the rock into the water. I was too preoccupied to be startled.

I looked at her and waited as she curled her arms gracefully around her long legs, her golden hair floating on the cool breeze that came off of the water. Why did she always have to make me feel clumsy and plain? Because I am, I guess. It isn't her fault.

"Aldion, the elf whose family Mason is staying with, has discovered something that you need to see," she said, her eyes flashing with hurt and anger. Knowing that she would have told me about it unless she wanted me to see it first, I stood up with her and we walked together to Aldion's talan. The young-looking brown-eyed elf came down the path to meet us, wringing his hands in agitation.

"I was cleaning, and the door to Mason's room was open. It is never open, and I do not impose on his privacy. But he is not here now, and I thought only to enter his room to clean. I did not mean to look for anything," he said as he ushered us through the talan to a door at one end.

"Of course not," I reassured him. Aldion opened the door and stood aside for Vanimë and me to enter. I stepped into Mason's neatly kept room and looked around, not seeing anything unusual.

"On those low shelves, behind the dresser," Vanimë pointed.

The dresser sat at an angle. I thought as I walked around it that Aldion must have pushed it aside to clean the floor. Then I saw them, and I knew that it was Mason that I had to banish from Methentaurond. It was Mason who would never understand. Or worse, he did understand but he didn't care – he cared only about his own obsessions. There were seven of them – seven beautiful, irreplaceable lanterns from the caverns in various states of demolition, their starlight forever quenched in Mason's attempts to figure out how they worked. A camper's multi-function tool sat near the latest stolen lantern, the kind that had scissors and pliers and screwdrivers all in one. That, and glass containers filled with liquids and filaments and – well, I'm not a chemist so I didn't recognize most of what else was on the shelves. I understood enough to conclude that Mason was obviously brilliant at assembling experiments from found objects.

"MacGyver with a rubber band and some duct tape," I whispered under my breath. Vanimë screwed her eyes up at me, but I was too disturbed by what I saw to explain.

"An endless supply of free energy," I repeated what he had said to Vanimë weeks before.

"I told him he wouldn't find his answers here," Vanimë said, picking up and sadly examining one of the broken lanterns.

"He was too ambitious to listen," I concluded.

"I should have watched him more carefully – I should have noticed when the lanterns started to disappear," she said. "No one here knows how to call the starlight to them anymore, not even Haldir. We revere them as a gift from the Valar."

I tried to understand how she felt, knowing how precious the stars were to the elves, but I don't think I could ever really, completely understand. All I knew was that Mason had hurt her. He'd taken something irreplaceable from all of the elves. And he had begun an experiment in secret. It wasn't even so much the experiment itself as it was his secret defiance of the direction I had given everyone before we even got here. I simply couldn't trust him.

I promised Vanimë that I would make sure Mason never touched another lantern or anything else in Methentaurond. I promised her that as soon as they were safely on their ships and heading home, I would make him leave.

/i 

i 

March 3

I let Joel out of "jail" today, for which he said, "It's about time you realized you need me. You've make the right decision." This almost made me put him back in. Of course I didn't let him out until after I met with Haldir and notified him of my decision: Notified him, not asked him if he agreed with me or not. He had, after all, said the decision was mine, and been none too kind to me about it. As usual, he gave no outward sign of how he felt about my decision. God forbid I should actually find out what he really thinks about anything I do. It was only when I told him that I was letting Joel out on the condition that he bring Mason his meals and do his laundry while he was confined that I saw Haldir's eyebrows raise just a little. Well, what else am I supposed to do to punish Joel?

I also performed the unsavory task of telling Mason that he would be confined to the deserted talan but well cared for until the elves left Arda. Then he would be banished from Methentaurond. He didn't take it well, yelling that I was too "interested" in Joel to be impartial and that he had known better than me what was good for Methentaurond from the beginning. I really don't care. I wish we could be rid of him today, but that's impossible. I'm going to count down the next three weeks minute by minute because of Mason. No, not just because of Mason - because I dread each passing moment that draws me nearer to Haldir leaving. Each moment that draws us closer to Yestarë is a moment that slips through my fingers, a moment wasted and lost forever because it isn't spent with Haldir.

I was also finally able to welcome Haldir and Rumil back; Joel and Mason had been too much of a distraction before. I gathered that their trip had been as fruitless as Haldir's last one. Time was growing short. Haldir said that whatever progress they could make would now have to be made from here. How that will be possible I don't know.

/i 

It was a few days after Marian's decision about Mason that Marian started mentioning to me again that she was concerned about Haldir's well-being. Ever since Callo died, Marian has been jumpy about all of us. If I so much as sneezed from a fleck of dust she put her hand on my forehead - what this accomplishes for mortals I'll never know - and eyed me for hours like the falcon I raised as an elfling. So, though I know it is no excuse, you might understand why I did not immediately take her observations more seriously. There is that, and there is the fact that I knew Haldir was under a great deal of strain due to the still tenuous nature of our departure from Arda and the dangers it posed for all of us.

Of course, I could have reminded Haldir that there was a very willing Lady who could help take away some of that strain, but he would have looked at me with brotherly disapproval, and that would have been that. As it was, Marian's staunch support of my brother and her constant faith in him did more for Haldir's peace of mind than any advice I could have given him. Actually, I had little useful advice left to impart.

"It's starting again," she elbowed me in the ribs just as we were finishing dinner. I was well into a potentially rewarding conversation with a lovely elleth on my left, so I did not particularly appreciate the interruption.

"Rumil, turn around and look," Marian hissed. "Rumil!" There came those elbows again. "This is important!"

That effectively ended my conversation, so I gave Marian my full attention, just in time to see where she was pointing. Haldir was leaving the Hall through the archway that led to the Hall's stairs, with Vanimë in tow. As she pulled the curtains together in front of the archway, Vanimë looked across the room in our direction, then pulled the curtains almost, but not quite, closed behind her.

"See that?" Marian said, wiggling her finger at the archway and shaking my arm. "She always closes them all the way, always, after she glares at me like it's none of my business. But tonight she looked right at me and left them open. That's an invitation, Rumil. Vanimë is giving me a sign. We need to follow them. Come on," she said, grabbing my arm and scraping her chair across the floor to stand up.

"Am I allowed to ask why?" I protested as I pulled Marian back down to her seat again. "Lindir is about to conclude the Lay of Luthien - the end is my very favorite part. If Haldir and Vanimë do not wish to stay and listen, must we chase them down and make them come back?"

"Rumil, I told you about this before. You aren't listening. They leave like this, and go somewhere. I see Haldir on the terrace afterward, and he looks sick, or tired, or troubled, or. . . it's hard to explain, but something isn't right about this. Vanimë brushes me off like you're doing right now. If you know where they go then tell me. If not, then let's follow them, right now, before we lose them."

"Maybe they go to the bathroom, Marian, how do I know? I've seen Haldir unduly exhausted, too. But have you seen him so fatigued since you showed us that we could travel unseen by your mortal surveillance devices? No, you haven't", I answered for her as she reluctantly shook her head, "and neither have I. Remember, I have just spent two weeks traveling with him constantly."

"Well, it's too late to follow them now," Marian complained. "But I'm not seeing things, Rumil. When we traveled together he was fine, too. No, it's something here, or something he's doing here, that seems to drain him of all of his energy. It dulls his eyes, it weakens him. If you don't believe me, then come to my talan tonight after Lindir's tale and see him for yourself."

"There is nothing in Methentaurond that would do such a thing. This is our haven, our home. It is safe. And I can see Haldir just fine from my own rooms, Marian, but if you want company tonight I would be more than happy to. . . "

"Rumil, be serious! And move your hand!"

"I will bring Miruvor," I offered. "It makes you wild."

"Don't remind me," she groaned. "Bring whatever you want, as long as you come."

So late that evening we repaired to Marian's talan, where I made myself comfortable. I pulled a long chaise over to the railing where the best view of Haldir's terrace was and sat down, crossing my legs. "I am ready." I declared.

"Rumil, don't be so obvious. He'll see us. Come inside. There, at the window by my bed."

"Well, this is better," I purred, and stretched out on Marian's bed, propping and fluffing the pillows behind me. There was an unobstructed view of Haldir's terrace from the window at Marian's bedside. I wondered how many times she had watched him there, innocently thinking that he hadn't seen her.

"At last! An invitation to your bed I have waited for years to receive. I am ready for you now," I said, stretching my arms and folding my fingers behind my head in a most seductive pose.

"Oh for God's sake, Rumil," Marian said, but she sat down next to me anyway.

"Stop cursing," I told her.

"Stop groping," she replied, "and I'll think about it. Behave yourself."

"I BEHAVE very well. You just haven't given me the chance to show you how well-behaved I can be: In bed."

"Look, here he comes," she rudely changed the subject and leaned over my lap to part the curtain. I made myself sit on my hands - I didn't want to make her shriek out loud. "Now tell me that you think I'm overreacting. Just look."

I looked. In fact I was somewhat shocked by Haldir's haggard appearance. I didn't want to upset Marian by telling her so. However, she was upset enough on her own.

"You see?" she said. "His glow – that glow that you have too – it's so much dimmer than I've even seen it before! And look how he supports himself on the railing, like he can barely stand. What's going on? Rumil," she insisted, standing up and heading for the door to the balcony, "you have to come talk to him with me.

"Now?"

"Right now! You have to make him tell us what's wrong. He won't tell me anything."

"Alright, I will speak to him."

"Now? Will you do it now, before he denies it?"

"Yes, Marian, I will go talk to him right now. But you are staying here. If he did not confide in you before, he is unlikely to do so now. Perhaps he will speak to me alone about what has made him ill at ease."

"Ill at ease?" "Ill at ease?"

"Stop pacing, please. I am going," I assured her.

"If he won't talk to you, will you promise to talk to Vanimë? Tonight?"

"Yes. I promise. Now drink some of the Miruvor I brought you and go to bed. Speaking of bed, I can't believe I am leaving you now when we are so very close to. . . "

"Go! And Rumil?"

"Yes, dearest?"

She stood on her tiptoes and kissed me on the cheek. "Thank you."

I did go immediately to Haldir. I suppose I was becoming as wary as Marian: I did feel that all was not quite right. But as I expected, Haldir told me only that he was tired from planning our journey and needed sleep. I sat in his bedchamber and we talked – or rather, I talked - as he prepared to retire. This gave me the opportunity to observe how truly exhausted he was.

Never having let my brother's reticence discourage me before, I next sought out Vanimë as I had promised, and asked her where she and Haldir went after dinner. What she told me did nothing to ease my mind. I don't believe she would have told me anything had she not become worried about him herself.

"You must understand, Rumil, that Haldir has asked me to keep a confidence, but I know little about what the confidence is. I only know that I accompany him to the passages below the Hall and part from him there – it is always a different spot. Then he tells me when I should come back to meet him there, and. . . and Rumil, he is always tired. I help him back up to our talan, and then he sleeps.

I shouldn't be telling you this, Rumil, I promised Haldir I wouldn't speak of it to anyone, but I have become concerned for him, and I now feel I must. If he will not even speak to you, this worries me even more.

Why didn't you and Marian follow me tonight? I could not have been more obvious – did she not see me leave the curtains parted?"

I told her that yes, Marian did notice, but I believed that nothing was amiss and did not heed her words until I saw him myself tonight.

We parted knowing little more than before, and with a promise on my part that I would tell no one what Vanimë had confided to me. I was disturbed that my own brother would keep something from me, and I resolved to confront him again.

i 

March 7

The Fellowship wants to give the elves a "bon voyage" party. I have agreed. We all want to show the elves that we appreciate them and will miss them dearly, especially after what Mason has done. With Haldir's blessing, we've invited them all to gather at the green by the lake tomorrow, for the closer we come to their departure date, the more they will need to see to their preparations. This may be the last chance they have to truly relax and enjoy themselves before they leave.

Rumil has learned nothing from Haldir or Vanimë about his appearance last night on the terrace. Perhaps a party will take Haldir's mind off of his worries. Maybe this time he'll really dance with me, and I'll feel his strong, warm arms around me once more.

/i 

i 

March 8

Pleased with the preparations we had made for the party, I came back to my talan this evening to dress. But what to wear?

Sliding the fern and its stand aside and drawing back the hangings, I picked up a candle and walked slowly into the back of the small, shadowy alcove and hesitantly opened the wardrobe doors once more. Hanging above the mallorn box where I kept the jewel, rich fabrics shone in the flickering light, and again I wondered why anyone would leave such things abandoned or forgotten. Surely they had not been left there for me - Vanimë would have mentioned it. Yet, it was a shame for such beautiful things to go to waste, especially since such a fitting occasion waited.

Setting the candle down on the small side table, I reached in and reverently lifted a salmon-pink gown from its place and hung it on the wardrobe door. Taking hold of both sides, I spread the skirt out, translucent gold threading and heavy beading shivering in the light from the wavering flame. It was exquisite, yet I had seen garments almost as fine on some ellith here for special occasions.

Of course, it would hardly be likely to fit. Surely it would do no harm to just try it on. I was so tired of jeans and tennis shoes, and my two well-worn gowns. Feeling like a teenager, I lifted the creamy peach slip and drew it over my head. It fell from my shoulders in buttery, silken waves down over my hips, cascading to a stop just short of the floor. Next, I loosened the satiny gold ribbons that laced the front and long sleeves of the transparent gown and slipped it on, drawing the ribbons in again until it no longer hung loose around my waist. Finally, I held my breath and turned to look at my dim reflection in the wardrobe mirror.

At first glance it looked like a stranger staring back at me. The colors were perfect for my skin tone, and the fit was so exact that the gown might have been sewn especially for me. It was a masterful creation, accenting my assets and minimizing my faults. It rested at the outer edges of my shoulders and swooped down low enough to show some cleavage, just at the limits of remaining elegant instead of brazen. The ribbons tightened under my breasts, giving me no need for a bra, accentuating them by revealing more of the peach slip above my ribs, then drawing the outer layer together around my waist, making it appear slimmer. The ribbons stopped just above my hips, allowing the fabric to spread outwards again and reveal the peach fabric beneath in the center front from my hips to the floor. Beads in leaf and flower patterns interplayed with a diamond grid of golden threads, gathering and dispersing in just the right places around my body. It was deliciously ethereal and sensual, but at the same time refined and simple.

I knew at that moment that I desired nothing more than to have Haldir see me in this gown. I wanted him to see me as something more than just a plain, clumsy mortal who he had to suffer hanging around him. Could I dare ask him to see me just once more as a woman, whether mortal or elven, instead of, as he had said, a Lady? Might he, just once more, look at me in reality the way I imagined him looking at me in my dreams, the way he had looked at me fpr one precious moment in his gardens?

Could I dare wear this gown? I wished fervently that Allinde was here this evening to give me advice, but I hadn't seen her all day. Then someone knocked on the door and I opened it to find Rumil had come to accompany me to the lake. How thoughtful of him, as though he had predicted my nervousness. One look from Rumil and I knew I had to wear the gown.

/i 

i 

March 11

So much has happened in the last few days, and I haven't had the chance to gather my thoughts so that I can sit down and record it all until today. Some of it will be difficult for me to write, but I must.

I stayed as late as I could at the gathering last night, hoping in vain that Haldir would step in at least for a moment, but he never came. I was acutely disappointed, even when Vanimë told me that he had bee delayed by an important matter. It wasn't like Haldir to shirk a duty, although this was not that important of a matter. Even Rumil's attempts to cheer me up didn't help. There must have been something very important or very wrong to have kept him away completely, and I was worried.

I was feeling too sorry for myself to go straight back to my rooms. I left the lakeside and wandered a little by the light of the lamps that were spread like stars along the paths, until I realized that I might as well admit I was trying to find him, seemingly come across him casually so he could see me and I could determine that things were all right. I needed to stop this. I needed someone to talk to who would understand. I turned around on the spot and headed instead to the library, wondering if Allinde would be there this late at night. I hadn't seen her at the gathering either, come to think of it.

Allinde wasn't in the library, but Arianna and Dieter were sitting in the reading area by the fire together. Before I understood why all of the other candles in the room had been put out, I was over the threshold. I turned back toward the door and had a convenient coughing fit that lasted long enough for them to compose themselves. Then I turned back and innocently asked if I could have a glass of water.

Arianna jumped off of the couch, saying that she didn't have any water but she did have something that Allinde had asked her to show me. Arianna waved me over to the large table and lit the candles in the holder there. With great care she opened a very large volume to a page that had been marked with a silken ribbon, and pointed at a long passage written in elvish. I began to struggle with what it said. Seeing the words "Sarn Anor" but unable to make out some of the small writing in the flickering candlelight, I asked Arianna to read it for me if she could.

"I don't need to. Allinde told me she was trying to find out everything she could about the Palantiri, the Seeing Stones, and that you'd be as excited to read this as she was. She showed us this passage tonight and told us what it says in case we saw you before she did. She said to only tell you about it, no one else, especially not Rumil because Rumil would laugh at her. She just left. You must have just missed her."

"Arianna, please, what does it say?"

"It says that Cirdan the Shipwright took one of the Stones with him into the West, when the last ships departed. One, she said to be sure and tell you, not two. The writer believed that it might have been the Anor Stone once kept by the Stewards of Gondor, whoever they were. It goes on to record other details of their departure, including a description of a tall sylvan elf that the writer didn't know but was impressed with, who Cirdan spoke with at length, embraced and bid a fond farewell. Then the writer speaks of his trip back to his home and how he wonders if he made the right decision, but Allinde got very excited and said the part about the Stones would be the part you needed to know about. She said you'd figure out what it meant, and then she just left, like she was in a hurry."

Cirdan, I thought. Wasn't that the shipbuilder that was supposed to come for the elves at Yestarë?

"Do you understand what this is about?" Dieter asked me curiously. I held up my hand for a chance to think, and walked over to stare into the fire. I knew this was an important piece of the puzzle, or Allinde wouldn't have been so excited. It hovered just beyond consciousness, in the back of my mind. What was I missing? Whispers, fragments of remembered conversations swirled just out of reach:

Allinde, telling me that the Ithil-stone was supposedly lost in the War of the Ring ages ago, but no one was sure.

The stone in the tower of Elostirion, from Rumil's book, that had been taken to Valinor on the Ring-bearer's ship.

King Aragorn Elessar, my long-dead relative, who had passed two palantiri on to his children. One might have been the Orthanc-stone, which, the legends said, had at one time been used by the dark lord Sauron to poison the wizard Saruman's mind – a stone that people had been leery of; for obvious reasons, if the legends were true.

The Anor-stone, that the Stewards had guarded deep within the White City, that could see even through walls of stone. Had this been the other stone that Aragorn had claimed?

Think! I told myself. Maybe if I thought about what the stones themselves were like:

The stones had been an almost indestructible crystal, round, and dark. Some were big and some were small. I remembered that Allinde had told me they were supposed to be hard to use, that it took great willpower to focus them. Only the strongest – stewards and kings – could wield them, and only for a short time. People quickly became exhausted from using them, like. . .

That's when it all came slamming into my mind, like a tidal wave of realization:

Haldir, exhausted on his terrace at night after leaving the Hall with Vanimë.

The guarded corridor under the Hall that he told me was of no consequence.

Haldir, who had to be the "tall sylvan elf" that the writer had spoken of, for he told me that he had seen Cirdan to the last ships, Cirdan who had promised to return for him when he called.

And how was Haldir supposed to contact him? He had never really told me. He had only said "the way was now closed."

Suddenly the puzzle pieces fit together: Haldir had been given one of the Palantiri, perhaps by Cirdan himself, or King Elessar, and it wasn't working anymore! But why?

Then, ominously, I remembered Callo, and the dark, round crystal paperweight on his side table. Callo, who had desperately gasped that Allinde shouldn't see it, that she would be in danger. "Houseless!" he had struggled to warn me, though he had been almost too weak to speak. And Lindir had told me that the Houseless could be evil, dangerous. But Lindir was sure that there weren't any of them here. Oh my God! Callo hadn't meant the paperweight, he had been trying to tell me about the Palantir! Somehow Callo had known, or guessed, that there was one here, in Methentaurond. Had he thought that it was haunted?

Now I thought I knew where Allinde had rushed off to only moments before, and where, maybe, Haldir had been all this evening.

"Marian, are you alright?" Arianna asked me. Her voice snapped me back to reality. How many minutes had I wasted, standing here staring at the fire?

"I think I know where Allinde went. She could be in trouble. I need your help – come on!"

I ran toward the Hall with Arianna and Dieter behind me, praying that Allinde hadn't yet found a way to get past the guards in the passage. And what of Haldir? If that's where he was, then how many hours had he spent tonight, trying to reach Cirdan with a Palantir that Callo had warned was dangerous to Allinde – couldn't it then be dangerous to Haldir, too? Proud as Haldir was, had he thought that he could withstand whatever Callo had warned about, and force the Palantir to reach Cirdan's? Had he been desperate enough to try? Of course he had – he'd had no choice.

"Arianna, find Rumil and then Lindir and tell them we're underneath the Great Hall, where the corridors come together, and we need them!" I ordered, and Dieter and I ran on. How grateful I was that Dieter was strong and capable, and loyal enough to follow me without questions, for I felt I didn't have time to explain. I only hoped that we weren't too late.

From the poem "Remember That Country," by Jean Garrigue

Sarn Anor: The Anor-Stone


	33. Ch 33: Through Halls of Iron and Darkli...

First, not enough words of thanks to everyone who is hanging in there with me for this story. I haven't been able to get through to some of your e-mail addresses to express my appreciation, so - thank you!

Title: The Tale of Marian

Chapter: 33?

Rating: PG13 this chapter.

Pairing: OFC/Haldir

Genre: Adventure/Romance/perhaps a little Angst

Timeline: AU, modern times.

Beta: None this chapter.

Feedback: Welcomed, appreciated. Constructive criticism always appreciated.

Warnings: Angst/ Some violence/hints of the supernatural.

Author's Notes: This is a work in progress.

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1 for disclaimer.

THE TALE OF MARIAN

Chapter 33 – Through Halls of Iron and Darkling Door

Watching women bicker can be an entertaining spectator sport, but Lindir and I sprinting into them headlong in the Lower Halls was not at all amusing.

"Did you KNOW about this?" Marian was accusing Vanimë heatedly. "How could you let him go down there? He's been down there for hours, hasn't he? Do you even know what it could do to him?" she ran on before Vanimë, hands defensively on her hips, could hope to respond.

"And you, of all people," she turned on Allinde. "Do you even know what you're about to get yourself into? Trying to trick the sentinels? Without telling anyone? Without giving anyone a chance to help you? Protect you?"

"Marian, no one needs to protect me," Allinde said in excitement. "You know what's down there. If only the sentinels would let us through, then we could. . . "

"Could what?" Lindir inserted as we came to an abrupt stop.

"Thank goodness!" Marian said, and grabbed my arm, pointing at the two resolute and still sentinels at the entrance to the lower hall. At the moment they had lances at the ready, apparently having fended Allinde off at least once so far.

"Tell them we need to get in there. Haldir is in danger!"

"I told you, no one is to enter, not even me, by LORD Haldir's own orders," Vanimë protested. "The sentinels will not disobey him."

"But WHY can't anyone enter?" I asked calmly, Lindir and I apparently the only rational people in the passage. "This hallway has never been guarded before."

"Rumil, there's a palantir down there," Allinde explained impatiently, "the one Cirdan gave to Haldir to signal when his ships were needed. He's down there now using it, he has to be."

"That's not possible," I tried to calm her and Marian. "The palantir is locked away. Haldir wouldn't try to use it."

"You KNEW about the palantir?" Marian's jaw dropped, and so did Allinde's, Vanimë's, and presumably Lindir's, though I didn't turn to look at him.

"Well I should think so," I replied defensively. "I was there, after all, when Cirdan gave it to him. Haldir tried to use it once after we came to Methentaurond, to test it, but he could not reach Cirdan. He found that the palantir was, shall we say, compromised.

"Compromised how?" Vanimë asked me, her eyes turning to slits. Leave it to Vanimë to get at the heart of the matter.

"A voice that was not Cirdan's; shifting glimpses of the dark past, and shadows, Haldir told me. Shadows that swallowed the light and a voice that beckoned him to lose himself in them. It would bare one's very soul, he said, if given reign. Haldir broke away from the stone, barely. It seemed to sap all of his strength. He told me that it must not be used, and we locked it away. The stone is useless. Why would he try to control it again? He said the way was closed.

"The way is closed - that's what he said to me," Marian cried out. "that night on his terrace, when he was exhausted. Rumil, he IS using it, or trying to. He must feel that he has to try."

"Remember what I asked you," Lindir said to Marian, putting a calming hand on her shoulder. She looked at him in panic and confusion for a moment, and then she nodded.

"Vanimë," Marian said more evenly, "would you betray Haldir's confidence, if you had to do so to save Haldir's life?"

"Haldir's life is not in danger," Vanimë responded, but now there was a note of hesitation in her voice.

Marian waited. "Would you?" she insisted.

Vanimë looked from one to the other of us. Finally, she answered Marian.

"Yes," she said decisively.

"Then you must do so now! The palantir is evil, Callo told me so. You know Haldir has been down there much too long. We must go after him! We can't delay any longer!"

A feeling of dread came over me as I remembered how tired Haldir had looked from Marian's window. We had found no sign of the Havens or any way to tell Cirdan of our intentions. Perhaps in his mind it had at last come to this, and despite his wisdom he had chosen to confront the palantir; alone, so as not to endanger anyone else. A last resort. Why had I not seen that, in desperation for our people, he might falter?

"Vanimë, I believe her," I said.

"As do I," Allinde added. "One of the palantiri has to be here. If it is the Orthanc Stone, there is no telling what of the Dark Lord's evil might linger within. Evil that was hidden so that not even Cirdan would see it, unless he tried to use it."

Vaminë answered with a sad smile. "Very well, but not even my word can release these sentinels from their vows. On their very lives they will allow no one to enter, unless Haldir himself gives the order."

While Vanimë spoke, I backed up far enough to look around the corners of the flanking passages. What I saw there gave me the encouragement to inch Marian forward and whisper in her ear: "When you see your chance, run for it." Then I stepped around her and approached the sentinels as closely as I dared.

"Lord Haldir is in mortal danger," I announced to them pompously. Inconsiderately, they ignored me and stared straight ahead down the passage. "As his Counselor, I demand that you let me pass." I stepped forward the last few feet to toward the entrance. As I expected, the sentinels immediately turned and crossed their extremely sharp lances across the passage to bar my way.

"Now!" I yelled, hoping that the others would take my lead. To my relief, Dieter and Arianna sprang around the corners of the corridors where I had seen them waiting and tackled the sentinels from behind. Taking this cue, Lindir and Vanimë jumped forward to struggle with their lances. I prayed no one would be hurt as I reached for the first sentinel. "I really am sorry about this. Oloro," I told him, and he slumped forward, his grip on the lance loosened enough for Lindir to remove it from his hands. I looked up to see Marian wide-eyed and frozen in place.

"Go!" I pushed her as I crossed to the other sentinel to repeat the suggestion that he also fall asleep. That nudged her out of her panic, and she ran past me into the passage.

"No, Allinde!" Lindir cried out, catching her just as she was about to follow Marian. "You must not look. Remember Callo's warning," he said more gently.

"I promise I will not look into the palantir, Lindir, but Marian needs my help," Allinde insisted, looking pleadingly into Lindir's eyes, then at all of us. No one could easily deny Allinde when she used those eyes. Besides, she was probably right.

"Then we will all go," Vanimë said, laying the last sentinel's head gently on the floor and picking up his lance.

i 

It was the dimly lit corridor from my nightmare. Widely spaced torches flickered in the darkness, casting strange shadows across the ancient tapestries hung along the rock-hewn walls. The floor of the passage slanted down as I flung myself along the curved path, and the air grew cooler yet somehow thicker and more sinister the farther I went. Each wisp of air traced across my skin like a cold finger. Was it my growing fear or the chill and heavy air itself that made me slow, each step becoming more and more difficult?

Like my dream, I reached the top of a stair, its steps worn smooth by age. But where was Haldir? In my dream I had found him here and he had warned me back, away from the thick brown mist whose fingers now wafted up the stairs toward me. I paused at the top of the steps. Could I make myself go down into it? How far did the stairs go? If Haldir was down there, I would go, I resolved. I pulled one of the torches out of its bracket, gathered my skirts in one hand to keep from tripping and plunged down the steps – one – two – three – four. As I lowered myself into the dark murky deep, I felt like I was swimming through a thick soup, struggling forward, bending my will against a force that felt chillingly physical. I heard only the softest sounds behind me, muffled by the heavy air. Startled, I turned and swung the torch behind me, but I could see only a few feet back. The hair on the back of my neck rising, I turned again and swung the torch back down the steps, expecting at any moment to feel a bony hand on my shoulder. Why must all of my childhood nightmares, all of those scary movies I watched as a child, come back to haunt me at this moment, filling my mind with horrible thoughts of what might come next?

Had Haldir forced his way down the stairs this way, groping along the wall as I was doing now to steady myself, hoping that I wouldn't touch something that would make me scream?

I felt my way forward, hearing dull echoes both behind me and ahead. Just when I became sure that the stairs would go on and on, my hand went from touching wall to touching nothing, and the floor below my feet leveled off. Pushing my feet forward across the floor in fear of another stair or a drop, I dropped the skirts of the dress and inched forward with my hands and my feeble torch in front of me, chills running up and down my arms. So strongly did I feel that a malevolent presence was just before me that I nearly turned away, but the thought of Haldir down here in this horrible place hardened my will.

"Haldir!" I called into the dark, but my voice seemed to carry only a few feet, absorbed into the murkiness around me.

I stepped forward again, and my hands struck hard, cold metal. The torch in my right hand sputtered against the clammy surface. A chill, foul-smelling blast of air came through a crack in the metal, and blew out the torch. Utter blackness crowded in on me and I dropped the useless torch. Desperately I felt with cold, icy fingers for the narrow crack that the air had come through, and finding it, followed it down and up along the cold metal. A door! Would I find Haldir on the other side, or something much worse? Grasping to the sides of the crack at hip-height my hands found slippery, cold handles – the handles of those doors that in the movies, you're sure that the girl is an idiot of she opens them - and I pulled on them with all of my might. The crack widened and a sharp orange light shot through the darkness around me, brown particles of mist whirling in its glow. I heaved on the heavy doors again and they parted silently, as all elvish doors do.

How I wished that I had been wrong, that Haldir had not been in this dark vault, for that's what it was – a small round room with a curved ceiling hewn out of the rock, and at its very center a black pedestal holding a dark crystal orb. Haldir stood over the orb, his eyes locked upon it as though piercing through to its center, his hands black silhouettes ringed by orange light where he held it. The orb was dark one moment, then it cast its inner light orange and blue and then yellow, crackling and pulsing like static electricity across his haggard face and the vaulted ceiling above him. Haldir's shadow loomed and flickered on the wall behind him as if it had a life of its own. The room smelled of something that had been burned by lighting. So this was a palantir.

I had never seen Haldir look so utterly exhausted as he looked at this moment, older and almost completely drained of his luminous aura, as though the orb was absorbing his very being. His entire body strained and shook, his brow dripped with sweat as he struggled with the palantir. The dark mists floated heavily along the floor, swirling about his feet. It was so cold inside the vault that I could see the air Haldir exhaled. My heart began to beat faster than it's already frantic pace – this was very, very wrong.

"Lord Haldir!" I called, but he was so intent on his battle with the palantir that he neither saw nor heard me. Was he in a trance? I knew I had to break the palantir's grip on him. Yet if I pulled him away too suddenly, would I hurt him?

"Haldir!" I said again and stepped through the cold mist toward him, my skirts now dragging with moisture across the chill floor and my hands outstretched to touch him. All thought of my vain desires had left me and I only wished to hold him in concern and support, no matter how proudly he would resist such a gesture.

As I touched his shoulder the mist that was freezing my feet through my thin slippers reached its cold tendrils up and around him, snaking around his legs and his arms, lifting his hair into the air in tendrils and hovering menacingly in the air above. Desperate and terrified, I reached across in front of the palantir and grasped his arms, trying to turn him away from the glowing orb. Was it whispers I heard coming from the Seeing Stone?

The shadow of my arm fell across his eyes as I reached for him, cutting him off for an instant from the glow of the palantir. He staggered back as if a taunt rope had been cut, and he cried out something that I couldn't understand. Then with great effort he raised his head and saw me. He stopped in his tracks and stared at me, raking his gaze over me from head to foot. For an instant I saw the shimmer of some unknown pain in his eyes. Then he blinked and it was gone, replaced by a look of raw, cold fury. These were the ruthless warrior's eyes that the ballads sang of, yet they were more. There was something cold in his eyes that I knew in my heart was not his own, and I was truly afraid of him. I drew my hands away and stumbled back, his wall of intense anger hitting me, searing me like I was being physically burned.

What was wrong, I wanted to ask. What had I done? But such shock I felt that I couldn't.

"How dare you wear that gown! What are you trying to do to me!" he demanded in a raw, shaking voice so unlike his own, barely able to speak in his exhaustion and in the storm of his temper.

I didn't understand why, considering what he was doing here, he was so upset about a dress.

"I. . . . . I'm sorry." I forced the words out, trying to keep from trembling and backing away from him. "I found it in my room," I tried to explain. "If I've offended you by borrowing it, I'll return it at once. I've worn it with care, only for a little while; what harm have I done?"

"What harm?" he repeated hurtfully, advancing toward me until I found my back against the hard rock wall. "Do you think it makes you look like an elf? You have disrespected this garment by touching it. You will remove it and return it to me at once."

"Of course," I said, feeling debased and trying to keep my voice from breaking. "Come back to my talan with me and I'll change at once."

"Perhaps you did not hear me," he said smoothly and menacingly. "I said NOW."

"What! You want me to take my clothes off here, and walk back to my rooms in what?" I asked in disbelief. I looked desperately back through the doors but could see no one on the stairs. Where was Rumil?

"Come with me, away from the palantir. You're not yourself," I said to him, backing through the doorway and hoping he would take my hand and follow me away from that hideous vault.

Suddenly Haldir lost all semblance of control. His eyes glazing over, like lightening he gripped my arm painfully and pressed me against the wall with his thigh, pulled out a knife, and slit the ribbon down my front from top to bottom. I glanced down in horror as he pulled it down my shoulders and off of my arms, but neither the dress nor I had been damaged. I was left with nothing now but the thin, revealing peach slip hanging loosely about me. I kicked off the slippers quickly, hurt and humiliated. Surely he would not. . . . .

I looked up at him again in fear. In my dreams he shed his anger. In my dreams he apologized and I forgave him, and he drew me into his arms. In my dreams we held each other tenderly and consoled each other with soft touches and whispered explanations. But as always, it was only in dreams. . . . .

"Remove it," he ordered.

"I can't," I replied shakily, "Can't you see that I have nothing on underneath? If you'll only come back with me. . . "

Again he pressed me roughly against the wall, pulling up the slip to my knees, then to my hips, his hands gentle on the fabric, but unforgiving and uncaring on the bare skin beneath. I began to shake uncontrollably and turned my head to one side, my eyes squeezed tightly shut, gasping for breath and trying not to cry out. Haldir was an honorable elf, honorable above all else, my mind screamed. He would not do this! This was not happening! Something had hold of him, something was inside of him that wouldn't release him. Was it one of the Houseless that Callo had warned of?

"Let him go!" I screamed into the cloying mist.

All at once I realized that his hands had stopped their upward travel. I opened my eyes and turned my head slowly to see his eyes fixed on me, the maddened glaze in them clearing for a moment, then receding into despair. The mists fell away, receding into the dark, and all that remained was the static light of the palantir dancing across the walls. Haldir swayed, then pulled his hands back, examining them in disbelief.

So deeply was my heart injured, so crushed with humiliation was I that I could hold his tortured gaze only for an instant. "I only wanted to please you," I whispered brokenly.

"Marian?" he blinked in confusion and horror, as though he had just recognized me. Then he collapsed onto the floor at my feet.

I caught him as he fell, dropping down and pulling his head into my lap, hearing at last the sound of feet coming toward us down the stairs, and seeing the welcome white light of the lanterns wash across Haldir's gray and still face.

/i 

Allinde and I were the first to reach Marian and Haldir crumpled at the base of the stairs. To Allinde's credit, she saw the palantir but instead went with me straight to Marian and Haldir's side. It was all we could do to pry Marian away from my brother enough to see that he was not dead, as I at first feared, but unconscious and with a pallor to his skin that struck me to the core. "He is alive," I told her, and we both wept with relief.

Vanimë and Dieter were not far behind. One look at Haldir and Vanimë handed the sentinel's lance to Dieter. "I will call Lomion, and bring a litter," she said efficiently, staring into the glowing vault for only a moment before leaping back up the stairs.

Dieter grasped the lance and entered the vault, staring wide-eyed at the palantir. Lindir joined him, lance in hand, and they circled the room warily. Arianna took Allinde's place at Marian's side, and Allinde rose and entered the vault behind them. I don't think Marian was even aware of her surroundings. She had eyes only for my brother as she shakily stroked his face, murmuring to him over and over, begging him to wake up.

No one noticed Allinde approach the palantir until she began to speak. "It is the right size, the right color," she said as she circled around it, her hand drifting along the pedestal's edge. "It must be gazed into from the correct direction," she told Dieter as he came forward to stare at the pulsating orb. "If one's mind is strong, the palantir can be bent to one's will, showing what the gazer desires to see: the past. . . . the present. . . . but never the future.

This is the Orthanc Stone," she intoned, the glow of the palantir reflected hypnotically in her eyes. Dieter reached out toward the palantir. Without warning she pushed him back and lifted a heavy metal cover from the floor, clanging it over the orb. The pulsing glow disappeared, replaced by the fair light of the lanterns we carried with us, and Dieter gasped as though released from a spell.

"It is flawed," Allinde said bitterly. "poisoned by the Dark Lord, inhabited by the Houseless. It has become a deceiver, as Lord Haldir would now tell you if he could speak. It must be locked away, never to be used again, never revealed again," she said to us all with conviction. Lindir came to her side in support.

"It will not be, I assure you," I rose and declared, staring down at my brother's unmoving form in Marian's arms.

"No one is to be allowed in this vault ever again, not even Lord Haldir or by his own orders," I told the groggy sentinels as they appeared, followed by Vanimë and Lomion with a litter. Disgruntled, they retrieved their lances from Dieter and Lindir, closing and barring the iron doors behind us.

"Marian, you must let go of him," Lomion told her gently but to no affect. "Adaneth, boe noch balar an hon," he whispered to her, "help us take him to my talan where we may care for him." Reluctantly she nodded, allowing Allinde to pull her away from my brother so we could place him on the litter, but his hand she would not relinquish.

I took Haldir's other hand as we placed him on a bed in Lomion's talan. It was the most pleasant of the healing rooms, with a large window opened to the fresh air of Lomion's terrace and a fountain playing outside. "He is still cold," I told Marian in distress.

"I know," she mouthed to me as Lomion drew blankets over Haldir and began speaking the healing words over him.

After a time Lomion drew back, slumping tiredly into a nearby chair. "He is struggling still, deep in a place I can reach but fleetingly. You must tell me what happened when you were alone with him," Lomion told Marian. She looked down then, seeming to realize that beneath the wrap I had placed around her shoulders, she wore only the thin silk slip of her dress. I hadn't wanted to burden her with questions before. Now she blushed with embarrassment.

"Marian, you must tell us. It could be important," I urged her. So she told us, haltingly, adding frequently that it had not been Haldir's fault, that he had not been himself, not sounded like himself, when it had happened.

"What is this dress, Rumil?" she asked me. "Why would it upset Haldir so to see it?"

"Well," I replied somewhat guiltily, "it was our mother's dress. She told us she wore it at the family ceremony when she bound herself to our father."

"Oh Rumil," Marian said. "It's your family's talan that I'm in; the wardrobe is yours. Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because Orophin wouldn't mind, because you looked beautiful, and I wanted you to be happy, and because I am a prying, stupid elf!" I apologized. Not in an age had I done anything that had caused such dire consequences.

"Rumil, you can't possibly think this is your fault," she told me. "You didn't know what Haldir was doing. No one did."

"I should have realized he would try to use it," I said, guilt and fear for Haldir tearing at my insides. "I should have stopped him."

"Enough," Lomion said. "I fear that whatever ill force entered Lord Haldir from the palantir may be within him still, refusing to depart. He feels deep guilt at his treatment of you, Marian, and for consulting the palantir though he learned it was treacherous, this I have felt; guilt that is keeping him from fighting as strongly as he needs to. Stay with him; your presence comforts him even as it pains him. I must rest now, and consider what more I can do for him."

"What more you can do? But he will recover, won't he?" Marian pleaded, grasping Haldir's hand to her heart.

"Whether he recovers or not," Lomion told us gravely, "depends largely on the struggle that he wages not only with the palantir, but with himself."

The morning light waxed and waned into evening, and Marian and I stayed by my brother's bed, talking quietly. At last I had to take leave of them for a time – I owed it to Haldir to help Vanimë keep preparations for our journey going until he awoke. Until, I repeated to myself, not if. I had to believe that Haldir would awaken: any other outcome was unthinkable. When I left them Lomion was once more at his side, and Marian had leaned over her chair and laid her head onto Haldir's pillow, falling asleep with his hand still held within hers. This comforted me greatly, whereas nothing else could. Haldir could not have had a better angel if a Maia herself was watching over him. Retreating down the steps from Lomion's talan, I softly joined the song of prayer that wafted toward the healing talan from all corners of the caverns, reminding myself that all the elves of Methentaurond were entreating the Maiar and the Valar to watch over my brother as well.

In fact Haldir did recover, but not in a way that any one of us would have guessed.

Vanimë and I labored into the night, the work keeping at bay our constant concern for Haldir. Returning to our silent talan with Vanimë, we paced back and forth. Finally admitting that I would not be able to sleep this night, I told Vanimë to rest as best she could. I left the talan and turned my steps yet once again toward Lomion's talan. Vanimë would come to sit with Haldir at first light.

Was this all I could do for him, sit at his bedside and wait? I thought to myself as I raised my hand to knock lightly at Lomion's door, that this was a pitifully inadequate thing to do for my brother. Yet, my long experience told me that there was a time for sitting, and waiting. Painfully, this seemed to be one of those times.

The door opened just as I raised my hand to knock. Lomion drew me inside with a finger to his lips, and quietly closed the door behind me. There was an air of excitement in his movements as he led me into the room where Haldir lay. Marian was now curled on the against Haldir's side, an arm wrapped over his chest in sleep. The pink slip was hung carefully in a corner, and Marian wore instead some white shift that Lomion must have found for her. Someone, no doubt Lomion, had thrown a soft blanket over them both, and lit a candle, above which a fragrant sprinkling of flowers and herbs floated in a bowl of water. Catching my attention, Lomion pointed at his own eyes with two fingers, and then turned them toward Haldir and Marian, pointing again. Tiptoeing softly over to the bed, I brought my head down near them and looked at their closed eyes. Though his face was still startlingly pale, Haldir's eyes were moving beneath his lids as one's eyes do when they are dreaming. Well, I thought, that was an improvement over not moving at all. Turning my gaze to Marian, I saw that she was dreaming also. But what was Lomion trying to tell me? Lomion nodded his head toward them again, and I looked closer, first at Marian, then at Haldir. Slowly I came to the realization that their eye movements were the same – moving in exactly the same direction, at exactly the same time. Whatever they were dreaming, they were dreaming it together. I put my hand in front of their faces, and felt their breath on both sides of my hand. They were breathing together. Remembering Marian's and Haldir's separate admissions that they dreamed of each other, hope surged within me for the first time that day; hope that in dreaming Marian could find Haldir wherever the darkness had taken him, and bring him back. I settled down into the chair opposite Lomion. This I could sit and wait for.

From "The Lay of Luthien", p. 218, The Fellowship of the Ring, by J.R.R. Tolkien.

"Boe noch balar an hon.": "You must be strong for him," as near as I can translate (I'm no linguist).


	34. Ch 34: A Luminous Choice

To: Tathiela, Kwannom, Telboriel, Shan, Rennjenn, and Ertia: Thank you so much for reviewing Chapter 33 and for being so kind! - I'm sorry I haven't been able to get back to you individually.

Also, just a note that I need to take a short break for some Real Life events - I'll probably be updating at the end of next month. Please don't give up on me.

Title: The Tale of Marian

Chapter: 34?

Rating: PG13 this chapter.

Pairing: OFC/Haldir

Genre: Adventure/Romance/perhaps a little Angst

Timeline: AU, modern times.

Beta: None this chapter.

Feedback: Welcomed, appreciated. Constructive criticism always appreciated.

Warnings: Hints of the supernatural.

Author's Notes: This is a work in progress. Still.

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1 for disclaimer.

THE TALE OF MARIAN

Chapter 34 – A Luminous Choice

i 

I don't know how I could have fallen asleep at Haldir's bedside - in Haldir's sickbed, actually. I don't remember how I got there. He just looked so gray, so cold and still, that I had to touch him to know that he was still alive, somewhere inside. I had to make him warm. I vowed to stay awake until he woke up no matter how long it took, terrified to look away from him for an instant in case he got worse. I suppose I was emotionally exhausted. At least I made sure to change out of the slip of his mother's dress off before I sat down to wait, and take the elvish-styled braids out of my hair. I couldn't have borne it if he had woken up and relived the pain that he clearly felt to have seen me in it. I don't think I'll even wear the two gowns that Vanimë gave me again - much safer to stick to my old jeans and tennis shoes. I feel so guilty for having wanted to look appealing to him. I'm weaker than even Haldir knows. He was right when he yelled at me, asking what I was trying to do to him. It had to be the final element, that last bit of something that made everything too much for him, that sent him over some unseen precipice; all my fault. How COULD I have fallen asleep?

"Haldir!" – no answer. Blackness all around. Impenetrable, cold darkness. Dark that is full of still darker thoughts. . . things, hidden in the darker shadows of the deep inky blackness.

"Haldir! I know you are here. Where are you?"

"Heeeeerrrrre……." Whisper of cold air behind my right ear.

I shiver, and look back. Behind me up the tunnel is light, and safety. I turn back to face the dark.

"I know that isn't you, Haldir. I will keep searching until I find you. You know this."

Silence. Time. Echoes in the dark.

Dull glow slowly appears to my left. Faint shimmer. Too faint.

"I am here."

"What is this place?"

"Darkness. Not night as it was in the beginning, when the First Born awoke in Arda, in Cuiviénen. No, an altogether different sort of darkness. Ever hungry; swallowing stars. Devouring everything. . . good. You must go back." Bitter words. Voice without hope.

"Not without you." Stepping forward toward the glow, cold darkness closes in, filling the void behind me.

Dull glow flares briefly. "You must come no further."

Laughter. Faint, chill laughter in the dark. I shudder despite my resolve. I swallow.

"Haldir, we need you. Why do you linger here? Come back to us." I reach forward, toward the faint glow.

"Not. . . . . . . worthy. . . " The glow lessens, backs away.

I move forward.

"Do not follow me!"

I look back. The round disk of light is smaller.

I move forward again, breathing hard. Growing fear. "I won't give up on you. I won't go back without you."

"No. . . you. . . mortal. . . cannot withstand what waits in the darkness." Faint echoes of metal on metal in the void. Whispers, near my ear. Raw. Cold. Low. Words I can't understand. Not elvish. Sharp intake of breath from the nearby glow that is Haldir.

"It will not wait for long."

"What does it say to you? I can't understand."

"Harken not to the Houseless. Go back now, while you can."

"Haldir, you are the only one who can lead your people. Will you forsake your vow, and them? Will you forsake me?"

"Tainted. . . Failed. . . Not fit to lead."

"What are you talking about? No one expects you to be perfect. No one blames you for what happened."

"What of your vow to me?" Haldir reminds me. "You made a promise to me also, did you not? I think you must have."

"I don't care. Mortals don't have the same moral fiber as elves, remember?"

"I have oft read the thoughts behind your words. Strangely, I cannot do so now." He pauses, a decision to be made. "You are bluffing."

"I don't bluff, Haldir, I'm not good enough at it. You know this."

"Do I? I cannot seem to remember. Marian, do not do this. I am lost, but you need not be. Go home."

"You aren't lost, unless you choose to be! YOU are my home, Haldir. Wherever you are, you always will be. I would really prefer that it not be here."

Silence. Glow recedes.

"No, wait!"

My mind reaches out, following the now wavering glow deeper into the darkness. My soul quivers.

Slight rustle of air like leaves in the wind. A brief glimpse of red. A cloak? "Return to the light. Soon I will not be able to protect you."

"You're getting weaker, I can see it. You have to come with me, now."

"Yes. Weak. . . the palantir. . . what I did to you! Never in all the ages has an elf ever . . . . I will not ask for passage to the West now. Go. Quickly. Trust me no longer."

"Ask for passage? You have SWORN to passage. And you did not hurt me - you were strong, you stopped me from being hurt. Don't you remember?

Do you think this is what the Valar want for you? What your brothers want for you? To fade, here in this – place? To not even try? "

Silence from Haldir. Black whispers in the dark, making my own hope dampen.

"Don't YOU listen to the Houseless! Don't you hide here in shame. You had no choice but to consult the palantir – I understand. I forgive you. I trust you. I will stay here with you until you decide to come back with me. You know I mean it."

"Stubborn, foolish woman. . . "

The faint glow lunges forward. I am pushed toward the tiny disk of light. Air rushes by. I am spinning away, out of control.

"Echuivo!"

"No!" I shouted as I bolted upright in the bed, blinking and gathering my bearings. I turned and shook Haldir, still cold and gray on the bed: Cold and unmoving, eyes open and unblinking.

"What happened?" Rumil asked me, his face ashen with the strain of waiting.

"He won't come back. The Houseless – they're all around him, taking his hope away; making him feel he's worthless; making him forget everything good. Please, I have to go back for him but I can't, I'm too upset to fall asleep. Please, do that thing to me that you did to the sentinels. I have to convince him. Such a horrible place."

I was babbling; begging. At the same time I was terrified to leave the safety of the warm, candlelit talan again. Lomion leaned over and brushed a hand over my forehead, looking deep into my panicked eyes, wasting precious, precious time.

"Do as she wishes," he told Rumil gravely.

"Rumil," I said, "You've never done this to me before, right?"

Rumil's worried face bent toward me. Then I felt his hand on my forehead, and I heard him as if from a great distance: "Oloro," and - nothing.

Nothing. No darkness. No light. Only gray nothingness, silent but for the sound of wind, and rushing water. Wait. Something is there: blue eyes in the blowing fog; twinkling, wise blue eyes float faintly in the gray infinity, then only grayness once more. I blink, straining to see against the wind, my eyes watering. They are gone. Were they ever there?

Fog turns to wisps; parts before me. Haldir stands statue-like across a deep flowing gray river with his back to me. Silver-blond hair tangles, red cloak whips in the wind. Gray dimming to blackness beyond. It is so far to the other side.

"Haldir," I venture. My voice floats like dandelions across the river, swirling and breaking apart, tossed by the wind until it is nothing. He doesn't answer. Still, by the slightest stiffening of his shoulders, I know that he has heard me.

"Haldir, you are a wise and rightfully proud Elf," I struggle to remind him over the wind, pushing the words out into the air, "a loyal and strong leader. You must remember how deeply you care for your people, how bravely and willingly you carry your responsibility for them.

You believe that if you lead your people to the sea and the ships do not come, that it will have been your fault; that you will have exposed and endangered them for nothing" I tell him. "For the first time in your long life, perhaps, you doubt your own decisions: You have stayed too long; the Palantir reveals nothing; you fear you have personally failed the Valar and they will not come for you."

Still, Haldir stands on the opposite bank with his back to me, silent, the fog swirling about him, his cloak whipping in the turbulent air. Dark tendrils of the blackness beyond reach toward him in slow motion, teasing the air, tentacles undulating in the wild currents of wind. I am fascinated by them even as I am horrified.

I take a deep breath of the thick fog, all of my frustrations and fears for him finally, irrevocably pouring out. "How truly arrogant then have you become!" I cry out, stepping forward until I teeter on the edge of the bank. I sense rather than see emptiness before me. Now the water is far below, a rushing, churning snake in the deep; the bank the edge of a chasm obscured by the fog. The fog reaches up from the abyss; a gust of wind slams me forward. I lose balance; wave my arms to steady myself. Haldir doesn't see me falter.

"You are an Elf, yes, Haldir, but you are not a god! You take the whole weight of the world on your shoulders. Do you think that you alone can prevent Iluvatar from fulfilling his promise to lead all Elves to the Undying Lands, by what you have done?"

Haldir turns, finally, and looks at me across the chasm. His hair lashs in the wind; his eyes flash dangerously, but he waits for me to continue.

"And what HAVE you done, for your people to be punished for your actions?" I rush on, afraid to stop. "You have revered and cared for Arda, you have protected and loved your people, you have left a legacy for Men and taught us everything you know, you have followed the Light selflessly through everything you have endured. Don't give up now! Don't become one of them! Remember who you are, Lord Haldir, and what you still must do!"

Long silence stretches into my dream. I hear only the sound of churning water far below, and the insistent, ever-engulfing wind.

"Have you finished at last?" he demands. He crosses his arms defiantly in front of him - his movements like those of another. His face holds an unreadable, imposing look that is different than all of his other imposing looks that I have learned to recognize, and an eyebrow raises in - well, I don't know in what, but I know it isn't a pleasant sign. I only know that in trying to help him I have now accused and insulted him beyond any hope of forgiveness.

"No. I haven't finished," I say, though I am exhausted in body and in heart. "I know you don't trust me still, that you'll probably never believe I'm worthy of the task before me, but I don't care. None of it means anything without you; without knowing that somewhere you're alive and well. Please don't do this to me – to all of us. I can't go on without you."

"You went on without one love; you can go on without another," his voice, full of strange inflections, carries cruelly across the chasm between us.

I crumple in upon myself then, almost giving up – Haldir could have said nothing that would have hurt me as much as this.

"Do not let him dissuade you; it is not he who speaks," a voice floats on the wind; a female voice, wise and clear and crisp as falling autumn leaves. "Our march warden dwells brightly in your heart. . . you know what you must do. . . "

"What? What must I do?" I ask, twirling around to see who has spoken, searching the fog; finding nothing. Whatever – or whoever- has spoken, is gone. But the pain in my own heart is gone as well; my mind clears. A trick! Haldir, or whatever has a hold on him, is trying to trick me into giving up on him.

"You must go home, Marian," Haldir says tiredly, beginning to turn slowly away into the fog; black tendrils now touch him, coaxing him forward. My mind knows that if he steps into the blackness, I won't be able to reach him any more.

"Remember the ring. . . the rain. . . the shores of the sea. . ." the female voice whispers, and is gone. I think back, grasping at memories: memories that threaten to whip away from me on the wind. Rumil, giving me his ring at the motel. So long ago. Rumil and Bruno on the beach, in the rain. And I know what to do.

"I'm going to jump!" I threaten, stepping back from the edge of the chasm. "I'm going to jump to reach you, and if I don't make it. . . I would rather end it here than go back alone."

"Do not toy with me," he threatens, but he stops turning away, and I hear worry in his voice.

I turn away and pace off the distance I need, shoving my legs through the fog. No distance will be enough. But this is a dream, I tell myself. Surely I won't really die. I trust the voice in the wind; not the dark voice from before, but this new voice that speaks Elvish or English, I can't quite remember. I trust this voice like I trust Haldir.

"Do you know what I believe, Haldir?" I ask him, turning and facing him once more.

"Tell me what you believe." His voice curious in spite of himself, a little more worried, perhaps, that I am planting my feet in the ground like a sprinter ready to explode from the blocks – for that is what I intend to do.

"I believe that you are a spoiled elf. You know intimately that the Valar exist, without having to decide whether or not you believe they do. We mortals, we have to first believe in order to know. That's why you can't see the way to go home."

"You make no sense," Haldir complains wearily. The blackness creeps around his feet, plays with the edges of his cloak, tugs.

"I believe that you can't see the way home, Haldir, because the Valar want you to have to believe it is there, like I have to, weak inferior mortal that I am."

I close my eyes briefly, praying that I'm not making a horrible mistake. I need more time; I have no more time. "I believe they are testing you." I looked him straight in those stormy, deep blue eyes across the chasm, now cold and dull; around him the faintest of faded auras, dissipating even as the blackness spirals up and around his calves, his knees. I know that this is his, and my, only chance. "Remember who you are, Lord Haldir. Just like me, just like the lowly mortals that you so despise, you must make a leap of faith." I run, jumping into the cold, swirling void above the abyss.

Not floating; falling! Cold air below, rushing. Stomach in my throat. Plunging, sounds of water crashing on hidden rocks below. Falling! I can't see him!

The rush of a malevolent shadow across the chasm. A chilling wail. A brilliant explosion of white light above and around me, and voices.

­

I started awake - that horrible, body-jolting start that one shakes the bed with when one wakes from a dream of falling, just before one hits the bottom. I tried to sit up, shielding my eyes from the intense light around me, but I couldn't rise for the rock-hard arms and legs that were clenched tightly around me, making it hard to breathe.

The brightness was Haldir, I saw with squinted eyes. His aura flamed around him, as bright, almost, as that jewel that I have hidden in my wardrobe. Well, in Rumil's wardrobe, actually. As I grasped his face and looked for movement – any movement – the brightness softened to a white glow and his eyes became clear and blue and so very much more like his own than in my dream. Clear and blue, and, focusing on my face only inches away from his own, very, very angry. I grinned back at him, waves of relief and love washing over me so intensely that I laughed out loud in wonderment that he really was awake, and safe. As I laughed, his anger faded into what I hoped was closer to mere irritation.

"So," Haldir said, a curious, ominous quirk forming on one side of his beautiful mouth. "A woman - a mortal woman - believes she needs to remind an Elf about faith. Who is the teacher now, and who the student?" he said in a bemused voice that caught me off guard. Then he pulled my head down and kissed me on the lips quite thoroughly. I was speechless.

"Ahem. If you two want to be alone, just say so," Rumil said from a chair near the bed, in a typical suffering tone that was completely ruined by the wide grins that he and Lomion both wore from ear to pointed ear.

Haldir unwrapped himself from around me and moved to get up. He was weak and shaky. Rumil helped him rise and took him into an enthusiastic, brotherly embrace.

"Forgive me," Haldir took Rumil's shoulders in hand as much in affection as in support to help himself stand. "I was wrong to lose hope."

"There is no need for apologies, muindor," Rumil protested. "Your intentions were honorable, if not advisable."

Haldir smiled at the pointed reference to Rumil's role as his counselor. "Point taken," he said. "I will embark on no more ill-advised quests without first telling you of my intentions."

"Notice," Rumil said to us dryly, "that my fine brother did not say that he would forego such a pursuit if I advised against it."

"I noticed," I replied. "Would you expect anything less of him?" I rose from the bed with difficulty and sat in the chair. I found I was extremely weak, but decided it would be best not to be found by others in such a suggestive location. Lucky decision, for as soon as I moved, Lindir, Allinde, and Vanimé pushed past a protesting Lomion and greeted Haldir warmly. Even Joel came behind and stood inside the room, a look of clear disapproval on his face. My cheeks became a little warm at seeing him - I would have to ask Lomion if he had come into the room while Haldir and I were sleeping. Surely he wouldn't have been pleased to see me in the same bed as Haldir. Not, I reminded myself, that I should care.

"You are yourself once more. I can see it in your eyes, my Lord," Lindir rejoiced.

"And in his attitude," Rumil added.

"How did it happen? We felt a dark presence depart from your chamber, and then a white light - my Lord, you shone as brightly as Glorfindel or any of the Eldar in all their glory. You must tell us the tale," Allinde insisted, looking from Haldir to me with a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

"There will be a time for tales," Lomion ordered. "Now food and rest for both woman and ellon - this is a house of healing, not the Great Hall."

"Yes, leave them to their rest," Vanimé repeated while Rumil helped Haldir to lie back on the bed. "I will return this evening with whatever tidings are of value," she assured Haldir. "For now, news of your recovery will be most welcome to all outside these rooms."

"Later," I mouthed to Allinde, and she grinned as Vanimé and Lomion shooed everyone out and closed the curtain in the entry.

Haldir and I were left alone. I wondered if I was the only one who felt awkward. Apparently not, for as soon as Haldir's eyes fell on the pink slip hanging in the corner, his features stiffened and a look of deep regret clouded his tired face. I reached for his hand and squeezed it, tears threatening to form in my eyes to see him still tortured by the events of the day before.

"I wish you to have our mother's dress, if it does not pain you to gaze upon it," he said with difficulty.

"I would be honored," I replied. "I knew you wouldn't let me fall," I added groggily and raised his hand to my lips. I was so tired that I could barely raise my arm.

"You are to never again put yourself in such grave peril," Haldir said quite insistently, though his eyelids were beginning to close.

"Yes, my Lord," I replied, and he forced his eyes open long enough to shoot me a commanding and somewhat distrustful look.

Then I found myself being pulled onto the bed and held once more against Haldir's side. I didn't protest.

"Dream with me once more," he murmured as he fell asleep.

/i 

From the poem "The Green Afternoon," by Henry Rago

Echuivo awaken

Muindor brother


	35. Ch 35: Bounded by Love and by Need

Title: The Tale of Marian

Chapter: 35?

Rating: PG this chapter.

Pairing: OFC/Haldir

Genre: Adventure/Romance/perhaps a little Angst

Timeline: AU, modern times.

Beta: None this chapter.

Feedback: Welcomed, appreciated. Constructive criticism always appreciated.

Warnings: Moderate angst.

Author's Notes: This is a work in progress.

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1 for disclaimer.

THE TALE OF MARIAN

Chapter 35 – Bounded by Love and by Need

March 12

We slept last night, but mine was the deep, dreamless sleep of complete exhaustion. No matter; waking close in Haldir's arms surpassed even the most vivid and detailed vision.

"I am awake," he said in an amused voice as I tried to lie still in spite of my stiff muscles and awkward position, "as is Lomion. He has entered twice already since I awoke. He is intent, it seems, on removing us from his care." Haldir had begun to arrange my hair on his shoulder as he spoke, but then slipped from the bed and drew me up as well.

He stretched up straight and tall, looking completely recovered from his ordeal. "Today is a day for decisions," he declared. Almost as visibly as I saw him cinch the leather and mithril girdle around his waist, I sensed the set of his strong brow, full mouth and broad shoulders receive the mantle of his authority and the weight of his responsibilities. "I will call a council for the greater part of the day. We will gather at dinner – all Elves and all Men within these walls. Join me then."

"All of us, even Mason?" I asked him.

He took me by the shoulders and gave me one of those measured stares that made me feel he was reading my very soul like an open book. "All of us," he repeated solemnly. Kissing me on the forehead, he strode from the room.

He could have at least kissed me on the lips.

I didn't see either Haldir or Rumil until late afternoon, and only then because I was forced to interrupt those in the council chambers before dinner with some very painful news. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

After leaving the restful haven of Lomion's rooms I carefully returned the peach gown and slippers to their place in the wardrobe. I changed into jeans and a tank top and left my now mid-length graying hair down without braids of any sort, trying to appear as un-elf-like as possible (not a difficult thing for me to do). I didn't want to cause Haldir any further distress. I checked the mallorn box, soothed that the Silmaril – I might as well call it what I think it is - was there as it should be. Should be? – I berated myself then as I still do now for thinking that in my possession was where such a priceless treasure should be. But where else? There is no tall statue in Methentaurond with an open, empty hand in which it should slip neatly into; no Elven altar with an empty stand in which to place it. Yet I'm afraid that I may be growing too attached to it, hoarding it for no good reason. It appeals to me – who wouldn't find it fascinating? Should I give it to the Elves? I have little time left to decide. And will it be safe in their hands, unsure as they are of the rescue they're counting on? What makes me think that I know what's best for the Elves in anything? A leap of faith – what had I been thinking?

Disgusted with myself, I closed my talan door and stood on the path outside. The soft, cool breeze floating through the caverns was as silent as the telain and the paths around them. I decided to go looking for Allinde first – I hadn't seen my dear friend in days. I jogged first to her talan and then to the library, but she wasn't there. I'm proud to have kept up my jogging. I run with Arianna often, feeling my age trying to keep up with her. I must be able to keep up with the elves when they leave, for I've decided I will go with them to the coast whether Haldir agrees or not. I wouldn't be able to stay here, not knowing if they got away safely. Even more than that, I will be near Haldir as long as I possibly can, before I have to let go. Oh damn, my eyes start to water every time I think about it. I'm making a mess.

I thought perhaps Allinde might be part of the council that Haldir had sequestered within the Council Chambers. As it was surely mealtime, I decided that if anyone knew who had been summoned by Haldir, it would be Turnaur or others working in the kitchens. But he told me that Allinde was not within the chambers.

I went back to the quiet of the library by way of the baths and the particular gardens she enjoyed, and paced until it was clear that I was an unwelcome distraction to the solitary elf studying manuscripts at the large central table. Halting my impatient steps so suddenly that I startled him, I wondered if she had gone back to the vault to look at the Palantir. Then I relaxed. I'd heard that Haldir had sealed the chamber both by physical means and by ancient words of command, and set new guards as well. Allinde wouldn't have been able to enter.

I left the library and wandered along the quiet paths among the tree-columns, my mind turning to the Anor Stone once more. Why hadn't Aragorn's sons, or even Cirdan, known that this palantir had housed evil? Clearly Haldir had discovered this soon enough. Maybe, I reasoned, they had simply never tried to use it. I don't want to bring up this question with Haldir so soon after his "encounter", and I'm not sure I ever should.

Passing back through the carved forest of telain again, the midday glow of the caverns casting gentle leaf-shaped shadows along the suspended platforms under my feet, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye at the door to Joel's talan. What would he be doing there at this time of day? Hesitating, I decided that I should tell him to spread the word about the gathering tonight.

I crossed the short bridge to his door and knocked. No one answered. I was sure that I had seen someone enter. I called out to Joel. If someone else was inside, they would have some explaining to do. I looked around for anyone, hoping Mason hadn't somehow escaped and meant Joel harm. My heart beating faster, I called out again that I knew someone was there, and they had better open the door.

At last the door cracked a few inches, and Roger peeked his balding head out, effectively blocking my view inside. In an uneasy manner, Roger told me he was glad to see me well, but he didn't open the door further.

"Roger, what are you doing here? Where's Joel?" I asked.

"He's here," Roger said, still not opening the door.

"Well, can I see him?" I asked, beginning to suspect that something was not quite right.

"Ah. . . perhaps later, Doña Marian," he objected in a distinctly guilty voice.

I put my hands on my hips. "What's going on?" I demanded.

"Going on? Nada. Todo está bien," Roger lapsed nervously into Spanish. "Hasta luego," he added, and stepped back to shut the door.

"Not later, now," I insisted, putting my foot in the door. "Joel? Let me in."

"You might as well, Roger," Joel said tiredly from around the door. "She'll need to know anyway."

Shrugging his shoulders, Roger swung the door open and stood aside. At first the sight that greeted me seemed perfectly normal. Allinde, Sandy and Joel were sitting together in his front room.

At last! I called her name happily and told her that I had been looking everywhere for her. Then the situation began to sink in. Allinde reclined on Joel's couch, propped up with pillows. Sandy was holding her hand and Joel was nearby, returning something to his black physician's bag. I came closer to Allinde. She didn't appear to be her bubbly, energetic self, but laid listlessly on the couch, her skin tone flatter than the soft aura I was accustomed to seeing around her.

"Marian," she greeted me rather breathlessly. "I'm sorry I haven't been to see you again. The sleep appears to have done you well," she grinned knowingly. Her eyes twinkled a bit, but faintly.

"Allinde," I choked, and my heart began to break. Roger, bless his heart, led me by the arm to a much-needed chair at her side.

"Please don't be upset Marian," she pleaded. "Really, it's nothing. I'm just a little. . . tired."

I took her hand and looked at Joel. His grim expression confirmed my worst fears. Memories of how Callo had looked when I first met him sprang into my thoughts. Allinde didn't look nearly as bad, but the signs of what was to come were there in front of me.

"Why aren't you with Lomion?" I demanded, beginning to grow angry at Joel.

"She didn't want to worry anyone," Sandy said calmly, patting Allinde's other hand. "She's just a little under the weather, so she asked us to bring her here until she feels better."

Sandy didn't understand. "Elves don't get sick," I reminded her, trying to quell my rising panic for Allinde's sake.

"Marian, I'll be fine," Allinde insisted, squeezing my hand weakly, but I could see the knowledge of what was wrong in her eyes despite her attempts to hide it.

"You know elves don't get sick!" I blurted at Joel, my anger at him rising. "Have you even told Lomion, or Lindir?" I asked him. Lindir, I knew, would be devastated.

Joel rose from his bag and grabbed me by the arm. "Excuse us," he said bluntly, steering me outside and closing the door.

"You're upsetting Allinde," he scolded me. "Calm down and pull yourself together."

"Upsetting her?" I hissed back at him. "Joel, she's dying!"

"Not if I can help it," Joel said vehemently, his voice revealing both pain and determination.

I thought about an early discussion that we'd had – an argument, really – about the things Joel wanted to learn from Lomion. The elves had millennia worth of miraculous cures for injuries, but they'd had no need to fight sickness. Joel had wanted to work on trying to heal elves who might become sick. Lomion repeated to Joel his words to me about the foolhardiness of treating the symptoms instead of the causes. Joel argued that it could take decades, centuries to cure the causes, if people would even make an effort. Not everyone was like our fellowship, he declared. Most people only paid attention to what would get them instant personal gratification. He didn't want to wait – he wanted to learn to treat the symptoms now, when it might be needed.

I'd disagreed with him quite strongly. I told him that we had to believe that people would try to, or why had we even come here? When they saw that life and health would be better for all of us if we lived more harmoniously with the earth, I told him, it WOULD be a personal, immediate concern. Besides, I said, the elves would be leaving in a matter of months, how likely was it that any more would become ill first?

If we could cure the elves' illness, Joel pressed, they could stay. They could help us, be part of our society.

How many more elves would die before Joel and others could even hope to find a cure, if ever? Lomion had been trying for years. The elves would not be accepted by the Second Children, Lomion insisted. The mortals would fear them, and treat them horribly. They would fade.

I would change my viewpoint, Joel said to me bitterly, if I knew someone who was sick right now. Little had I known until this afternoon how prophetic his words would be.

"I want nothing more right now than to stay with Allinde," I said. "But Haldir must know about this immediately. Even now the elves are in council about their future, and we're to meet with them tonight at dinner."

I thought Joel would deliver some jealous remark, but he actually told me he had been close to calling for Lomion when I'd interrupted them. I should advise Haldir of Allinde's condition, he said. He and Roger would take her to Lomion and I could meet them there.

"She needed a little time, Marian," he said, putting his hands on my shoulders.

"She doesn't have very much time," I told him brokenly. "Her only hope is to hold out until Haldir can get her to the ships. In Valinor, she might recover.

"Don't you believe in Valinor?" I asked him when I saw him shake his head.

"Of course I do," he replied defensively. "I'm born and bred Catholic, remember? But I'm not going to wait and pray for ships that might not ever come to heal Allinde. In spite of no hospital, no laboratory, and no decent equipment, I'm going to find a way to help her, here and now."

I nodded, unable to speak further, and went to find Haldir.

I know that Joel will do everything he can for Allinde. I feel guilty for feeling this way and I pray that I'm wrong, but no matter how good a doctor he is – and I know he's very, very good - I just don't think that anything he tries to do will help.

The instant that Marian entered the Council Chambers, I knew something was horribly wrong. The words I had been speaking died on my lips, and I looked from her to Haldir. He could see it too, so withheld much of his anger though he had given the strictest instructions not to be disturbed. Marian ignored us all – Lindir, Vanimé, myself and the others – and walked straight up to my brother, bowing and waiting silently for him to acknowledge the interruption. She did not flinch when finally he granted her a scathing look that had shriveled the confidence of the hardiest elf time and again.

"Speak," he challenged in a milder tone than he might have used, seeing her distress.

For a moment dear Marian's mouth moved, but no words came out. As one, we leaned closer to hear.

"Allinde. . . is ill," she finally managed to say, her emotions barely in check. She had emphasized the word "ill" in such a way that none of us doubted her meaning. Exclamations of denial rose from many. Grief washed over us all. Of course we cared deeply for all of our brethren, but Allinde – the most exuberant one among us, who could make even the most world-weary elf see the wonder of Arda fresh and anew – held a special place in each of our hearts.

I had never seen the light in Marian's eyes so dim. Through each difficult time in her life, my Marian had never wavered in her absolute confidence that things would get better, nor given up striving to make it so. Now I feared that Allinde's sickness, added to Haldir's imminent departure, had finally extinguished the hope that she thrived on. I wanted to rush to Marian and comfort her, but I withheld myself. If I did so, she might break down completely in front of the others. I would have to wait.

"Joel is taking her to Lomion," Marian continued with difficulty. "He wants to try to help her."

"No!" Lindir shouted, rising from his chair. "This mortal must not be allowed to interfere. He has neither the skill nor the understanding!"

"Peace, Lindir," Haldir stayed him with a hand on his shoulder as Marian looked at Lindir in shock. "Such skills as we have were of no value to Callo. We cannot ask a healer not to try to heal. You need not fear the doctor – he will do nothing less Lomion approves."

"My apologies," Lindir said tightly to Marian. She shook her head to dismiss Lindir's outburst, but her face still expressed hurt at the betrayal I knew she felt at Lindir's words.

See to it," Haldir directed Marian by way of dismissal, and turned back to our table.

"My Lord," Marian continued urgently, and Haldir looked back and nodded for her to continue. I sympathized that she didn't want to add weight to my brother's burdens, but there was little to prevent it. "Allinde needs to reach Valinor as soon as possible."

Haldir frowned. "It was right for you to come to us. But I see you greatly desire to go to her. Impart our good wishes to Allinde until we may each speak with her ourselves."

Marian left, and Haldir turned back to us. I expected no great changes to the course we had already agreed on, for the day that we hoped Cirdan would be awaiting us could not be changed no matter how urgent the need. We would need to do whatever we could to make Allinde's travel as comfortable as possible, however. And that meant leaving earlier than we had intended.

March 13

There wasn't enough room the Great Hall for all of us in Methentaurond, so last night Haldir gave word that we would dine on the banks of the Linluin where the grape crush had occurred some months ago. This location and the hearty buffet that Turnaur laid out gave a festive air to the occasion despite the solemn words that would follow.

After the meal Haldir rose and stood with the sparkling Linluin behind him. His proud and commanding posture and his serious expression, quieted us immediately. For a long moment, nothing could be heard but the rushing of the water. Even the birds that had been twittering above the greenhouses fell silent. I will write Haldir's words as best I can remember them:

"None who now remain here have seen the White Shores with our own eyes. None have felt its gleaming sands beneath our feet or its clear light on our faces, though we sing of such things still. These stars and waters, this land has been a sacred gift, rich and beautiful. We have been loath to leave it. But Arda is no longer safe for our kind. It sickens and we sicken with it: Callo and others are dead; Allinde has fallen ill. It is time- past time - to go Home.

Some among us look ahead with joy to Valinor; others feel their roots to Arda too strong and their hearts are heavy. We will all carry Arda in our hearts to the end of days. I will not command this or that fate upon any one of us. Each of you has a choice before you: to go or to stay.

For any who would stay, your fate is before you. You must abandon Methentaurond - soon mortals will know of its existence, and they will come. I fear that in time you too will sicken and die, in the company of others or in solitude. The healing of Arda will not come soon enough for you to escape your fate. You must treasure the time that you are granted, however long that may be.

For those who would follow me to the Sea (and here Rumil, Lindir and Vanimé stepped to Haldir's side), our fate is uncertain, our journey dangerous. The Havens are lost to us. I have chosen a place, relatively unwatched by Men, which we must reach and await the ships unseen. I can find no way to signal our friends that this Yestaré, we will await them on these shores. I may only hope that by some grace of the Valar or by some path that I cannot yet see, Cirdan will know that we wait, and come. If he does not and we are discovered, we will face the whims of Second Children who are no longer elf-friends, who know naught of us but legends and children's tales. Any honor they may yet possess, we cannot chance. If we remain unseen, we will wander the shadows of Arda until we meet with whatever fate awaits us.

I make you no promises. Those who follow me must set out sustained by faith alone. Whether you will turn to the forest or the Sea, all must depart at dusk by the Main Gate in six days time. Each of you has that much time to bid Methentaurond namarie."

I looked around the clearing and saw tears in many eyes besides my own, elven and mortal. I made my way to where Haldir stood, knowing this might be my last chance to tell the Elves what was in my heart.

"Speaking grandmothers sing in our ears: Puxa ikinkdiksh enqiqnan alona daminaoa anxdushima!" Yasmin stepped forward and declared emotionally. Elves and men alike stared at her in amazement. "It's Native American- Paiute," she explained. "It means: 'What we learn from our elders can be carried on.' "

"Well then why didn't you just say so?" I heard Joel say under his breath.

I couldn't look Haldir in the eye or I swear I would have collapsed into tears. I told them with difficulty that Arda would be much emptier when they had gone, but we would carry them always in our hearts. We would keep the legacy of the elves alive. We would teach the world about them, and never let them be forgotten again. I told them I had faith that once we shared Methentaurond with the world, people would understand and we would turn things around.

"Throughout our own brief history," I finally looked up at Haldir and said, "we've honored those who have left the comfort and safety of their homes and set out to achieve great things; people who have overcome seemingly impossible odds and faced mortal danger to succeed. They are our explorers, our inventors, our astronauts, scientists, our poets. But they are also average people who have risen to find courage within themselves that even they didn't know they possessed.

But," I said," we also honor and remember those who took these same risks and did not succeed but inspired us simply because they were willing to try.

We call these people heroes," I told Haldir, whose eyes had deepened to their darkest, deepest blue. "Every elf here is our hero. We have faith that you will reach home, and we will accept nothing less for our heroes and our friends. We offer you whatever help we can give. May the Valar guide you and welcome you home at last."

"Or they'll have me to deal with!" Roger said, shaking his fist at the cavern ceiling and making everyone laugh. I listened to the bright tinkling laughter of the elves, knowing that soon their voices would no longer be heard. I swear I will never forget it, no matter how much time goes by.

The brief laughter died quickly, and the mood became solemn again. I tried to catch Lindir's eye, but he looked away. Since I told him about Allinde, part of Lindir seems already to have left for Valinor. I can't judge him for blaming us for Allinde's sickness, but it makes me sad that I seem to have lost a friend. I admit, it makes me a little angry at him as well. Allinde is my friend too. We're doing everything we can.

Haldir took me aside. "My heart tells me there is still time to reconcile Man with Arda once more. It is not the elves who must be heroes now, Marian. It is you, if you can."

We were interrupted by Dieter steering Mason toward us. "It is our hope," Haldir said imperiously to Mason, "that if you have learned nothing else, you will have seen that there is more to be learned from observing a thing than by destroying a thing to find out how it works."

"There are important things we can't see unless we take things apart; magnify them; experiment with them. We would have never found quarks if we had not split an atom," Mason argued like the stubborn scientist he was.

Haldir replied staunchly, "You mortals have an expression: 'He can't see the forest for the trees.' A student of ecology, I thought, would be concerned with seeing the forest. There is a place for what you speak of, but it is often not the best path to understanding. One day perhaps you will see this, if you will allow it of yourself."

Mason didn't speak but looked defiantly at Haldir like he thought him some sort of dinosaur. After a moment, however, he glanced quickly at Vanimé and then dropped his eyes. "I'll help you get ready to leave, if you'll let me," he said between his teeth, casting me a glare from under his dark eyebrows. "Anything but sitting in that cursed talan doing nothing for another week."

"I don't advise it," Dieter said quickly to me. I knew that having Mason loose in Methentaurond would make Dieter's job much more difficult. Who knew the trouble he might start, or what he might try to get into. I deferred to Haldir – it was really more his decision than mine, as it was the elves' security at stake more than anything else. His answer surprised me.

"I accept your assistance if Hiril Marian assents," Haldir said, "but you will be watched at all times."

Dieter shook his head, but I was already feeling guilty at shutting Mason up for so long, so I agreed that we would try it. Tomorrow at least, along with the rest of our company, Mason would spend part of the day helping the elves prepare to leave. After that, we would see.

"And you need to pack as well," I told him. "You'll be coming with us, part of the way. You'll come blindfolded, and Dieter will lead you back to the highway. Don't worry," I said as Mason prepared to strenuously object, "he'll pay you what I still owe you – we aren't going to leave you helpless. You can take what you've learned here and patent it and make millions of dollars, I don't care – the more knowledge that's shared, the better off we'll all be. But," I added threateningly, "in exchange you will never tell anyone about this place. If you do, I will know it, and I WILL find you."

Dieter excused himself and left with Mason in tow, throwing me a "thanks a lot" glance over his shoulder. I think I may be taking Dieter for granted.

"You do recall that such kindness is exactly how the Greenwood wardens lost Gollum?" Rumil commented, appearing at my side and saying cheekily to his brother.

I turned back to Haldir to find him measuring me with his eyes in that way that always made me feel completely inadequate and instantly aroused at the same time. "I AM going with you," I said defensively.

"Indeed, I insist upon it," he shocked me by saying.

"Close your mouth, Marian," Rumil advised, pressing his finger under my chin.

I closed my mouth, which I had opened to argue with what I thought would be a sure denial. I was too nonplussed to tell Rumil "On your finger," like I wished I had.

"The true measure of a teacher is for the student to be better than the teacher after the teacher has gone," Haldir impressed upon me as he turned smoothly to leave the clearing with Rumil. "Prove us to have taught you well."

Sure. No problem. Piece of cake.

March 14

Four days until the elves leave Methentaurond.

I sat with Allinde most of the day today on the deep couches by the library fire, surrounded by the smell of leather and parchment. Lomion said she might as well spend her time where she loved to be rather than in his healing chambers where, in spite of the sparkling fountain and soothing herbs filling the air, Allinde had proven to be bored and unhappy. "It's lovely, Lomion, but I can't sit here and be useless," she told him apologetically, and he allowed me and Joel to move some of her things into the library and make her comfortable there. Walking between her talan and the library was already beginning to exhaust her. At least here we could retrieve what she needed from the shelves when she asked for them, something that I was still waiting for her to get over being embarrassed at not being able to do herself, and at me 'wasting my time' staying with her. Whenever Joel came to check on her or to offer her some infusion that Lomion and he had agreed on, she was even more embarrassed at his ministrations.

Since he made it clear that my presence was not wanted when he came, I excused myself from the library and attended to other things when Lindir came to visit Allinde. He spoke to me, but only as much as propriety demanded. I waited at a polite distance from the entrance until he had gone. I could think of nothing to do but give him the space he needed.

"Will you join me for the singing, and to Lindir's tales in the Hall tonight, Marian?" Allinde asked me when I returned to her side. "I do not wish to miss spending such a pleasant time with the others." I knew, however, that she had another purpose in mind.

"I don't think that Lindir would appreciate my joining in any more, Allinde. I'm sure Arianna would be happy to stay there with you."

"Nonsense," Allinde said, narrowing her eyes at me. "You mustn't let Lindir's present mood keep you from showing your friendship for him."

"I thought I was being his friend by staying out of his way," I said in confusion. "He doesn't want me around."

She took my hand in hers. "I have known Lindir for two millenia, Marian. We are fast friends - Callo and I, we are – were - almost as close to him as the family he will join across the Sea. He is quite sensitive despite how cool and composed he usually appears, and he is almost beside himself at seeing me. . . like this, when we are so close to going home. He needs you to stand by him whether he thinks he wants it or not."

"Alright, I'll come with you," I surrendered, not wanting to tire Allinde further by arguing with her.

Joel brought Allinde's dinner to the library, as well as another concoction for her to force down. She swallowed it without complaint, winking at me over her glass. I know she thinks she's humoring him, but I'm allowing myself at least a small hope that something will help. She was brought to the glowing entry of the Hall in a palfrey (Lomion insisted on it), but she refused to be carried in on it. Instead she leaned inconspicuously on my arm and indicated where she wanted to sit – in the front of the room, just slightly to Lindir's right side. I could hardly refuse her, now could I?

I recorded Lindir's tale tonight in my journal with the others, as best I can remember. He concluded the tale of the Silmarilli with this: ". . . and the Silmarilli will not be recovered again until the world is remade.". This ending did not agree at all with the jewel that was sitting in the wardrobe in my talan. Encouraged by Allinde's words that I needed to engage Lindir even if he didn't wish it, I spoke to him without him addressing me first for the first time since she had become ill.

"What does it mean," I leaned forward and asked him, "'for the world to be remade?' Isn't the nature of the world one of change – isn't the world being remade a little bit every day? Could this not be what the stories refer to?"

He did not look at me, but he did speak, though in a coldly impersonal tone. "The changes of time in Arda, under the sun, the decay we have seen through the ages that grieves us so; I do not believe that is what the histories mean. We have been taught," he continued, "that it means the end of the world, when the Second Song of Iluvatar shall be sung by the Valar and all of the Children of Iluvatar, after the end of days."

"You mean after the Second Coming, Armageddon? But why shall they not be found until then? Would not the Valar wish them to be found, so that the Light of the Trees would shine in Valinor once more as it always should have?"

"I do not know," he said, regarding me at last with a curious look that made me wonder if I had said something to arouse his suspicion. "Yet, it is told that possession of a Silmaril, or the desire to possess one, has ever caused ruin for the Elves."

He rose to leave, but I dared to ask him one more thing that I found hard to understand about the Elves. "But Lindir, surely all you have seen through the centuries has not been decay; some changes are good, aren't they? Or they are not "good", or "bad," but only what is? Why, some people embrace change for change's sake alone."

"The hearts of Men find no rest in the world, and the world suffers for it," he faced me, his voice becoming louder and more bitter. "The thirst for power; the desire for change – this is not where the hearts of the Elves lie. We wish only to preserve the beauty of the world; to bring it to its highest perfection. Yet our fate has in the end become to teach you, who seem to foil us at every opportunity, like Morgoth foiled the Valar again and again. . . " Lindir started to say more, but his voice caught and he swayed slightly. I reached out to steady him even though I was sure he'd brush me away. Instead, he accepted my hand and sat down again at Allinde's side, seemingly just now aware of the remaining elves in the Hall, who were doing their best not to notice Lindir's outburst.

"Please leave us, Marian," he said not quite as unkindly, removing his hand from mine to rub his face wearily. "I will see Allinde to her rest."

Allinde started to protest, but I waved Lindir's words aside and excused myself, telling them that I would see them both tomorrow. I'm trying not to be upset at Lindir's bitterness. I know it's because he cares for Allinde deeply. But here I am demanding that all of the elves be perfect when even they aren't. I can't guess what's in Lindir's mind and heart. Still, I am hurt.

March 15

Three more days.

My eyes sprang open in the middle of the night last night, gritty from a long and tiring dream where I was searching desperately for something or someone, but now I can't even remember what or who. My waking thought was of what Lindir had said: ". . . possession of a Silmaril, or the desire to possess one, has ever caused ruin for the Elves." I can't give the jewel to Haldir, then, or any other elf! I won't bring further trouble to them than they already have to bear. Again I 'm afraid that I may have no choice but to keep it to myself. Frankly, it's becoming a pain – I'm getting tired of worrying about it all the time.

Three days to go, and I sat down with Corudring on a new bridge we have just completed – an unneeded shortcut that I'm sure he only said he needed for my benefit. What I hadn't noticed that although each bridge here is similar, none are exactly the same. Corudring has molded each to its use, of course, but also to its singular place and the materials that made it, not the other way around. Their utility and beauty awe me anew. They possessed a beauty as alive and growing as the plants and creatures of the forest around us. Finally, through building one with him I now understand the unique and thoughtful creativity behind them. And, I hope, I will be able to do the same for others.

When we were finished we drank a toast of Miruvor, master-builder to architect. I asked him what he was going to do in Valinor. The marble there, he has heard, is of the purest white, finer even than the marble from the mountains of Carrara that he and Michelangelo both favored. We consumed a bottle and a half dreaming of the beautiful halls that he and his studio of apprentices will sculpt with their own hands. I feel privileged to have been one of his students, if only for a very short time. I've learned things from Corudring that I would have thought impossible before. Nothing seems impossible for the elves – perhaps not even reaching home.

March 16

Despite Dieter's reservations, Mason is proving to be as helpful as the rest of our company in assisting the elves. I just make sure that he stays as far away as possible from Joel, and Dieter sees him back to his talan at the end of the day. Actually, accustomed as they are to traveling long distances, the elves don't really need too much help from us. At least we can do a few things, like help pack lembas, dried fruit and other provisions. Turnaur says there are too many of them to find enough food in the Spring forest as they travel, though he has assistants who will do just that, more for variety's sake than anything else. I think there is another reason as well - receiving the bounty of Arda as they go will be another, consoling way to slowly say goodbye.

It's not hard to keep Mason and Joel in different places. Joel is spending his days and, I suspect, most of his nights trying to find a cure for Allinde. Nothing is helping, and Joel's ideas area becoming a little more radical than Lomion, Lindir and I are comfortable with. Allinde isn't a guinea pig, after all, even if she insists that she'll try anything if there's a chance that she can help someone else later, if not herself. Joel's looking thin and pale and driven, and I'm worried about them both.

I told our Fellowship this afternoon that I'm leaving Joel in charge while I go with the elves to the ocean. I didn't know if he would jump at the opportunity to show me up while I was gone, or if he would insist on coming with us. I'm a little surprised at his preference. The others took it in stride (except Mason, who I didn't bother to inform), but Joel protested vehemently. He would not, he said, leave Allinde unattended. I stayed firm - Lomion, after all, was accompanying her. Joel didn't answer me when I told him again that he's staying, which means he's not done fighting with me yet. No matter - he WILL stay here, if for no other reason than his own health.

Haldir is concealing it well, but I can tell he's growing more and more agitated about those in his care. It shows in that one extra pace he takes across his terrace, that slightly sharper turn of his head or barely increased curtness of his speech. Rumil is by his side constantly, and I miss him. On the other hand, at least he's harassing Haldir and not me. Oh that's not fair - he's trying to keep Haldir's spirits up, though he does it almost unnoticeably when others are present. Rumil's putting on a good front, too - I know he's not nearly as cheerful as he's pretending to be. He even passes up easy opportunities to tease me, and that's unheard of.

I don't know how much longer I can stand this. The elves are grieving even as they look forward to crossing the Sea. Laments for Arda, though beautiful, fill the evening air with sadness and loss. Songs foretelling the sight of the Lonely Isle or of Elbereth have a nervous edge to them. I hate watching Haldir go through such increasing inner torment as each day goes by even as I crave his touch more and more desperately.

I'm starting to drink something Lomion gave me just to get any sleep at night at all. I'm no longer dreaming of or with Haldir, I don't know why. This makes me feel lonelier than ever before, lonely even before he leaves. And the jewel in the wardrobe is a constant source of distraction.

There are only two days left. Only two days.

I knew that at some point I would need to tell Marian the thing that Haldir and I have known all along. I had been putting it off because I knew that after I told her it would both comfort here and cause her undeserved guilt and fear; thus I would never hear the end of it.

During those last days before our departure I watched her and Haldir grow more and more unhappy. Both were struggling with the necessity of facing the moment when they would have to tell each other goodbye, and neither was finding the peace to accept it. I tried to comfort each of them; cajole them; goad them. Stubborn and strong-minded as they both were (I could think of other, more colorful terms), they each hid this bitter fruit inside themselves and would let no one come near it, not even me. Yet for each of them it simmered just beneath the surface, ready to explode at any moment.

Finally, on our last day in Methentaurond, events became such that I decided I must tell her.

Marian was never satisfied with any of the sketches she did of Haldir, though I thought the ones that I had been clever enough to observe quite good. She had a distinctly skillful hand but had little appreciation of her own abilities. Sandy would have told her this, but Marian never showed her any of her work. This day, she invited Haldir and myself, Vanimé, Lindir, Orodren, Gladrel and Allinde to sit for photographs. We obliged her. Even Allinde agreed without Marian's explanation that not only did she want a reminder of her friend, but she also hoped that a photo of her would help aid their cause.

We donned our finest garments. Orodren wore his warden's garb, his best longbow and quiver at the ready. Sandy took his photo outside in the forest; Gladrel's she took in the gardens, and Allinde's in the library. She took the rest of our photographs on the steps of the Great Hall while Marian looked on. I wondered if Haldir would take his armor from the wall one last time, but he did not do so. Preferring to be seen by mortals as a Lord, not as a warrior, he allowed me to plait his hair as we so often did for each other since childhood, missing only Orophin to make the scene complete. Vanimé brought out his most exquisite silver-green robes from his wardrobe, and he placed the mithril girdle with its ceremonial dagger still sharp and sound enough for real battle, and the Galadrim neckpiece and circlet about his form.

When Haldir entered to take the position that Sandy asked for, Marian's eyes widened and her body stiffened. Her entire being focused on Haldir completely, as if by doing so she could somehow keep a part of him here with her. Her chest rose and fell with barely contained emotion. Haldir's gaze fixed intently on Marian as Sandy photographed him. I remember wondering what someone looking at his picture in the months and years to come would read in his eyes. I can tell you now that the picture looks uncannily alive. My brother's eyes burn through the canvas as though the most precious thing in his life lay just outside the viewer's sight – as it did. Much later, some who looked at Haldir's picture as they toured Methentaurond commented that it was haunted, that they felt the power of his presence around them as they looked on it. Marian, when she first saw it, said the same thing. She kept a small copy of it with her always, even unto the day she died.

I wished fervently that I could do something for them both to ease their hearts.

We each left for other duties as Sandy finished our pictures. Knowing instinctively to save the best for last, she called me forward. I watched Marian watching me as I arranged myself in what I was sure would be a quite flattering pose. Being more accustomed to photography than the others, I turned my good side to her camera. Not that my other side is lacking in any way. . . and I saw her start to cry. She tried valiantly to hold it in, I could see that. But once that first choking gasp escaped her chest, it broke loose like the torrent of a Spring thunderstorm. Sandy set down her camera and hugged her, then excused herself tactfully, saying she needed a break. Marian and I were alone; she hugged her knees and her keening echoed off the stone walls. I froze in indecision, which is, I assure you, quite unlike me. The only occasions I ever felt completely helpless were when Marian cried. Composing myself, I ran down the steps and offered her my arms. Rather than slapping me off and telling me to go away, she fell into them sobbing.

She clung to me, allowing me to rock her back and forth as she horribly wrinkled and tear-stained my very best silk tunic. It was of Galadhric design, a shimmering color like rich loamy soil, with silver embroidery, as I recall. Ellith swooned whenever I wore it. I sorely miss that tunic.

Through her sobs she tried to talk to me. Eventually her speech was coherent enough that I could understand parts of what she was saying.

"I can't . . . you . . . Rumil . . . . don't know what . . . without . . . you, jerk . . . best friend . . . " and so on. I just couldn't let it go on.

"Sweetheart, I'm not going anywhere," I confessed, gritting my teeth and waiting for the inevitable.

" . . . miss fighting with . . . can't stand . . . to go," she continued in misery.

"Marian! Listen to me. I will not take the ships."

Marian pushed away from me, her tears instantly stopping.

"WHAT?" she said in horror.

"I am staying here in Arda, with you," I repeated patiently, brushing a damp strand of hair from her tear-streaked face.

"You can't stay here," she said slowly and vehemently like I had lost my mind. "Are you crazy? Have you seen Allinde lately? You HAVE to leave, as quickly as possible. You stood with Haldir when he said he was leaving. You stood with Vanimé and Lindir. You ARE going with them!"

"Marian," I said softly. "I am only accompanying them to the sea, as you are. I will return here, with you."

"Why?" she panicked. "Is it because of what I just said, because I cried? Do you really think that I want you to stay here and – and die?" Then she narrowed her eyes at me. "Does Haldir know what you're thinking of doing? You come with me right now and let him tell you how crazy you are. March, mister."

If I had been a child, she would have dragged me to him by the ears. But she didn't hear what she wanted to from him either.

"Did you heed my words or no?" he asked her, straightening up from the maps he was pouring over in his study. "I will not command any to either go or stay. It is Rumil's wish to stay with you. I give him my blessing to do so."

"You're not even surprised to hear this," Marian accused him. "You knew all about this. My God, how can you leave your own brother!"

A look of profound hurt crossed Haldir's brow for an instant. He returned to his maps without answering her.

"It's because you still don't believe in me, do you? You're leaving Rumil here because you don't think I can handle it. Well I CAN." She crossed her arms and put on a completely unconvincing air of denial. "I don't need you," she told me with a deep frown, and I saw clearly that it was hurting her to lie to me. "I can do perfectly fine on my own, thank you very much.

I won't let him stay," she insisted to Haldir when I didn't answer. "I won't be the reason he might get sick like Allinde. Haldir! Look at me, damn it!" she pounded on his desk in rage. "You can't make him stay!"

He looked at her then, and it was not a look I would have wanted to receive.

"You are not listening," Haldir said angrily. "No matter how my heart compels me to do so, no matter how my mind screams to have him by my side, I will not force him to take the ships with me! Rumil wishes to stay and help you. I honor his decision freely," he said, grasping Marian's hand by our grandmother's ring, "So must you."

With an expression of guilt and hardened determination, as though she was doing something almost sacrilegious, Marian reached for the ring to remove it from her finger. "I will break a promise if I have to, Rumil, to save your life - even if you hate me for it forever." The ring wouldn't budge. She tried again, and still the ring would not come off her finger. She looked at us helplessly.

I took her hand and closed her fingers. I knew what it meant for Marian to risk my friendship. I was profoundly touched.

"I am not saying goodbye to my brothers forever, dear one, but only delaying our reunion.

I can walk among mortals as I so often have," I told her, as I knew this was another of her fears. "Would you have me miss the great changes that we will begin together? Would you have me miss the healing of Arda, or shall we watch it together, side by side?"

"Rumil will not become ill," Haldir assured her less angrily. "Our Lady's mirror foretold that he will dwell with you for many years. Be comforted by this, and know that it is not only your need that keeps him here but his own needs, and the needs of us all."

"Fifty years - you plan to stay until I die. Please don't wait that long! Please promise me you'll go home soon," she begged me.

"Soon," I promised her. Of course, soon is relative, is it not?

March 17

Our last day in Methentaurond together, and I just had to spend half of it fighting with Rumil and Haldir, the two people I love most in the world. I am so afraid for them both, afraid for Allinde and all the other elves. I came back to my talan after failing to convince Haldir that Rumil can't possibly stay with me. I was still so angry at him! And, I was so desperate to hold him in my arms and tell him I love him, over and over and over. I cleaned, I packed, I wore a dent in the floor pacing back and forth. Should I or shouldn't I go to him? I couldn't sleep. The night darkened. The time was passing too quickly. Minute by minute flew by, crawled by. I wouldn't let myself sleep. I was afraid that if I did, I'd oversleep and Haldir would leave without me. I craved him. I wanted to go to him, throw myself at him, beg him to let me touch him. But what if he rejected me, here at the end? Or what if he relented and made love to me, would he lose his immortality? I could hardly keep myself from running to him, for I'll never be with him again, here in Methentaurond. He will be too taxed on the journey, I know, to have time for me, and then I'll never, never see him again.

It was very late, I think, when I heard a voice at my door. It was Rumil, who of course opened the door before I could answer it. I told him my fears – well, some of them. I tried to talk him out of staying, but I knew his mind was made up. He reassured me that he would wake me in time for both of us to escort Haldir and the others out of the caverns. When I asked him why he was up so late, he handed me a basket, and gave me a much-needed hug.

"Rumil," I said in confusion as I raised an airy cloud of thin white fabric from the basket, "I don't understand."

"Do what your heart tells you tonight, Marian. Your heart cannot be wrong."

"But Rumil, I can't ask him to. . . to. . ."

"My brother is stronger than you know, Marian, too strong for his own good. He will not allow this to endanger him. I know him better than anyone, as I know you. He grieves and worries tonight, for many things –"

-Yes, I thought, especially for having to leave Methentaurond in my hands-

". . . not the least of which is his grief in leaving you."

"Rumil, that can't be," I argued, even as my heart clung to his words like a drowning person clinging to a piece of flotsam in an endless sea, and handed the basket and its contents back to him. "He told me once that he cares for me, but he's never truly wanted me here, he doesn't trust me still. I will never be good enough, or strong enough, or. . ."

"Haldir's error is perhaps too much a desire to mold you in his own image instead of in your own, and a warrior captain you are not. But he believes in you, Marian, in spite of himself. Do not mistake his grief over Arda and his opinions of the weaknesses of Men for displeasure with you.

I have tried to talk to him, Marian, but you are the only one who can comfort him in this, and he you. I ask you as Haldir's brother and as your friend: tonight, this final night before we depart, do not let him grieve alone."

Rumil set the basket down on my table. He was more upset, more un-Rumil-like, than I had ever seen him.

"Rumil, the last time you gave me wardrobe advice was a disaster. Does this belong to your mother, old girlfriend, or anyone else I should be worried about?"

A look of profound gratitude and relief spread over Rumil's face. "Not so fast," I said quickly, "I haven't agreed to anything."

"Haldir has never seen it before, I swear it. You know you will regret it if you don't try," he said with an x-rated look on his face and a very Haldir-ish raise of an eyebrow.

"By the way, Rumil, where did YOU get this?"

"I never reveal my sources," he said, flipped his lovely hair, and left. Now that was more like the Rumil I knew and loved to despise.

I looked at the basket on the table, walked away, walked back and looked at the basket. It's a negligee, Marian, not a snake, I told myself.

But he would without a doubt reject me; it would be no different than before. Why subject myself to the inevitable humiliation? I walked away across the room and stopped in the bedroom doorway.

And what would it do to him and to me if he did not reject me? Could I bear to let him go? I was on the verge of begging him to stay as it was, and this I couldn't do.

Was Rumil wrong? Would it risk his immortality, one night of pleasure? It was perfectly clear that he couldn't love me even though he'd told me he wanted to - I wouldn't wish such a hardship on him. There was no higher purpose, no destiny planned by the Valar. No, it was better if I stayed away. It was better.

And yet, I thought, and walked slowly back to the table once more, I loved him so much it was tearing me apart. Self-destructive as I knew it was, my heart, my soul, my whole body longed, ached for his arms around me just once, before he was lost to me forever. It would be something more than a dream to cling to, once he was gone. And if I could give him the same, if I could comfort him just a little, where would be the harm? What had I given him, after all, for all that he had taught me, for everything he had gifted me with?

And Rumil had said to follow my heart.

And my heart was breaking, caging myself in this room when he was so near. And I was so alone, already, without him.

I lifted the garment out of the basket. It was simple, light, long, and hovered on the verge of being sheer. I could at least try it on. I removed my T-shirt and slipped it over my head. A faint wavy pattern like thick stripes, first somewhat opaque and then somewhat sheer in all the right places, teasing yet not teasing, revealing but not revealing, cascaded diagonally across the simple sleeveless sheath that had but one shoulder strap and draped seductively low under the other arm. It was a supremely suggestive, yet tasteful work of art. It was divine. It put such thoughts into my head, it made my body throb and my heart race just to imagine him looking at me in it with those eyes of his, eyes that no one else could ever have, eyes that soon would be only a memory.

But I couldn't walk around outside in this, reveal my intentions to anyone who might see me. Then I saw that there was another garment in the basket, and I lifted it out as well. It was a long, gray cape. I smiled. Rumil, who was always prepared for love. Rumil, who thought of everything, and might be without his brother for a long time.

I threw the cape on. I pushed open the door to the twinkling night, and I threw caution to the wind.

And I ran right into Rumil.

"WHAT are you still doing here?"

"I will walk with you, to protect your honor."

"You'll walk with me to make sure I don't chicken out," I grumbled as we walked through the misty night.

We reached Haldir's door, and I froze. Rumil reached past me and brazenly pushed it open.

"Don't you ever knock?"

"He is not within. My brother the perfectionist is checking the final preparations, but he should return presently. See, his bow, his sword and his pack are still here."

I looked down beside the door to see his things, neat and spare and tightly packed, as the field gear of a seasoned warrior would be. This physical evidence that he really was leaving, they all were, hit me like a knife in the stomach.

"Rumil, how can you bear it, you should go with him."

"You both need me to stay," he said simply.

"I love you, Rumil."

"And I love you, my sweet. Until the morning then," he said, kissed me on the brow, and shut the door.

I hesitated on the threshold, feeling like an intruder, and looked around the deserted room. It still held his furniture, his tapestries, and his harp. Only a few small, precious, easily carried things besides his weapons had been removed. He was taking so little!

I opened the door again, quickly in case I could catch him in the nose, but it looked like Rumil was not hovering just outside after all.

I looked through the arch draped with crimson curtains that led to Haldir's private chamber. I had never been past that doorway before, but I was going to go there now, uninvited and unexpected. Would he think me cheap? Presumptuous? He would doubtless think me desperate, for that was what I was: Desperate for one touch of acceptance, one word of reassurance; and desperate for him to be at peace.

I crossed the room and entered his bedchamber, closing the curtains behind me.

It was a simple, large and airy room of whites and golds and blues that I had never noticed opening onto the terrace. I lit the wicks of the single, large white candle on the side table and closed the curtains to the terrace, cutting off the light from the lanterns outside. Then I sat uncomfortably on the bed despite the deep cloud of silken white buoyed me - I smiled. Haldir might be arrogant and demanding and used to sleeping night after night on the hard ground, but he obviously appreciated comfort as well. I touched my hand to the soft pillow where he would rest his head. I took the pillow in my arms and pressed it to my face, breathing in. It retained his scent, faintly. It would not be long, I thought sorrowfully, before it would fade away forever.

And so I sat nervously, cradling Haldir's pillow and wondering if I were doing the right thing; wishing as I had so many times before that I could be as sure of my decisions as he always was of his own, and waited.

From the poem "A Letter for Marian" by Thomas McGrath

From "The Silmarillion," by J.R.R. Tolkien


	36. Ch 36: Why Do The White Gulls Call

Title: The Tale of Marian

Chapter: 36?

Rating: Hard R this chapter.

Pairing: OFC/Haldir

Genre: Adventure/Romance/perhaps a little Angst

Timeline: AU, modern times.

Beta: None this chapter.

Feedback: Welcomed, appreciated. Constructive criticism always appreciated.

Warnings: Moderate angst; sexual situation.

Author's Notes: This is a work in progress.

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1 for disclaimer.

THE TALE OF MARIAN

Chapter 36 – Why Do The White Gulls Call?

Marian never understood why I chose to stay. The fact that she stopped arguing about it so quickly - even though Haldir and I were doubly formidable when we joined forces - at least showed that she understood she needed me. She didn't understand that I needed her, too. I couldn't leave her to face her future alone. I wouldn't deny myself the sharing of the remaining years of her life, so dear was she to me. Besides, fifty years or so were but a few moments in time, and I would be with Haldir and Orophin again until the End of Days.

Marian didn't accept that she was needed and valued; especially by my brother. I knew better. Haldir was grieving deeply at leaving her. You may think me crass, but he needed her to sooth both his fea and his body, more even than she needed him. Apparently, it fell on me to make both of them see it before it was too late.

These were my musings as I loped back among the tree-columns the way I had come, leaving Marian safely ensconced in Haldir's talan. Now I renewed my search for Haldir. Where had he disappeared to?

Coming within sight of Marian's talan, I stopped and put my fists upon my hips. Who was it pacing in front of Marian's door, but Haldir? I stared at my brother, obviously newly washed and groomed, in most handsome garb, silver and shimmering in the lantern light. Remembering my ruined tunic, I wondered if he would let me borrow this fine one when I joined him in Valinor. I would have to remember to ask him.

He stopped cold in front of her door. Then, flinging his unbound hair back over his shoulder, he walked swiftly away, a deep frown on his brow. I pitied the ground that was raked with his fiery eyes as, strangely oblivious to his surroundings, he came within mere yards of me before sensing me standing in his path.

His face briefly flushed. Then he gave up all pretense of doing anything other than what we both knew he was doing.

"Where is she?" he demanded. "I have searched from the marbled Hall to the gardens and the falls of the Linluin itself. She is nowhere to be found."

Oh, the opportunities this scene presented. But I was too concerned for my brother's well being to take advantage of them. Or was I?

"Perhaps," I offered, "she searches for you as well."

Haldir considered this a moment. "She would not think to do so," he discarded the idea morosely. "I have held her at bow's length time and again. No, she is within another's talan, taking consolation - with a friend, perhaps," he said quickly, clearly upset at another possibility. "I will not make a fool of myself knocking on every door in Methentaurond to find her."

"You exhaust yourself, muindor," I scolded him lightly, taking a few steps back toward Haldir's talan. "If Marian is not to be found, at least allow yourself some sleep. Much of tomorrow lies ahead to find her if you still have a mind to."

"The restfulness of sleep eludes me this night, Rumil," Haldir sighed heavily, stepping away from Marian's door with me. It had eluded him for many nights past, I knew. I took a few more casual steps along the path. Haldir looked back at Marian's door, and then we walked slowly toward his talan in companionable if cheerless silence. The fact that Haldir was letting me glimpse his inner longings showed me how desperately he needed her company, how dismayed he had become at the time that was slipping away from us all. He would never have revealed so much to me in other circumstances, and nothing to others.

We reached the entry garden and his door, which I opened wide and stood back from so he could enter. Really, did I have to do everything? "Good night, Haldir," I stepped into the front room and said rather more loudly than necessary.

Haldir stood, dissatisfied. "One moment," he said, and pushed past the curtains into his bedroom. Elated, I made a quick retreat to the door and was closing it when he returned with a cloak in his hands. "I will return to the library again, in case she has gone to Allinde's side. Sleep peacefully, Rumil. I will rest later, as well as can be expected this night."

"No!" I said rather too quickly. "I will look in on Allinde. If Marian is there, I will tell her that you are at home, having searched for her in vain."

"Rumil, I can conduct my own affairs. . .pursuits. . . you know what I mean!" he glared at me. "Oh, very well," he acceded. "But I mean to search the garden again. Mayhap its fragrance will bring those dreams that have so lately deserted me." He waved me off, and I retreated out the door quickly before he changed his mind.

Panicked that perhaps she really had reconsidered and gone to the library I sprinted there, cracking the door open slowly and quietly. Seeing only Allinde's pale sleeping face in the warm glow of the embers of the fire and Joel collapsed in all of his clothes on a cot nearby, I ran to Marian's talan and flung the door open. "Marian!" I hissed, but there was no reply. Where was she! I had no idea that this was going to be so difficult. The two of them really were quite hopeless.

I ran quietly back to a well-used vantage point from which I could spy Haldir's talan, and waited. Having been a warden of the forest for centuries and possessing abundant imagination, I was well practiced in waiting still, silent and alert for many hours at a time. Usually, however, I was not this anxious. Finally, after nearly dropping from impatience and boredom, I caught movement. Haldir was returning to his door. But wait, he paused outside, changed his mind - again! - and started out once more in an agitated manner in the direction of Marian's talan. I jumped out onto the path, smoothed the front of my tunic, and casually walked toward him. This was getting ridiculous.

"Ah, there you are," I commented with apparent relief, and stopped directly in his path. "Well, she is not with Allinde, and she is not at home, and I can hardly keep my eyes open. I expect you will continue to scour the caverns all night, and I don't blame you. I wouldn't sleep a wink until I found her if I were you. Well, I'm going to enjoy my soft bed this one last time if you have no further need of me. We will certainly not have such comfort for many nights to come," I concluded, and stood waiting for his reply.

I did my best to conceal my impatience as my brother examined me quite suspiciously. I knew what was crossing his mind: I was suddenly urging him not to retire, meaning that I was obviously trying to get him to retire. To avoid my manipulation his response should be not to retire. Yet he knew that I would anticipate this response, so therefore he should retire to avoid my real objective, which was for him not to retire at all. His problem was that he didn't know why, and I wasn't about to tell him. Luckily for me, he was far too upset to give any of my words any consideration at all.

Rolling his eyes, his jaw clutched in complete exasperation and not a little anger, he went inside his talan and shut the door in my face. Praise the Valar! Now, what had happened to Marian? I stood staring at Haldir's unhelpful door considering numerous possibilities. Momentarily I heard muffled voices from within, and I smiled broadly. Really, what would they do without me? Certainly not what they were about to do. I allowed myself a small and silent victory dance in front of the door before I retired, at long, long last, to my own bed and my own dreams.

i

The night stretched on as I waited, and I began to wonder if Haldir would return for the night at all. Was he still ensuring that all was prepared to his satisfaction? Had he gone to some private place to be alone, his responsibilities weighing on him in his solitude? I left for a brief moment to check his garden but it was empty. Was he with someone? Did I dare leave again to search for him?

I must have fallen asleep at some point, for I awoke to the sound of low voices in the anteroom, a door shutting, and then silence. I arose groggily and straightened the bed as quickly as I could, my heart pounding at what kind of reception I might receive.

I felt that the rooms were no longer empty, but there was total silence. Was he here?

I groped for the cloak in the candlelight, throwing it loosely around my shoulders, feeling at once vulnerable and foolish in only the thin negligee. I nervously approached the curtained arch. Was I wrong? Had he paused at the door and then gone on? Maybe it would be better if I left now; he need never know that I had come, that I had been so weak and needful of him.

Yes, I saw clearly at last. I had made a bad decision again, imposing on him when he had more than enough burdens to bear without me to adding to them. I resolved to leave quickly before he returned, and stepped through the curtain.

Before I could scream or even draw breath, I found myself in an iron stranglehold, my cloak fell away, and a strong, familiar hand clasped across my mouth.

"Marian! What are you doing HERE?" He sounded startled and angry as he loosened his grip on me and turned me around by the shoulders to face him. Then his eyes took in the candle, the closed curtains, and the white negligee in sudden comprehension.

"Not waiting to be attacked," I replied shakily under his intense, evaluating gaze.

"Such caution has saved my life on many occasions," he replied, raking his eyes thoroughly over my body, which I knew he could see most of through the negligee. "You should have told me earlier of your intentions."

"I didn't know earlier of my intentions," I countered. Was his tone of voice meant to mock me, or was it only my own insecurity that made it seem so?

In the uncomfortable silence that followed, I noted in the flickering candlelight his sleek silver-gray leggings and abbreviated tunic: sleeveless, the mandarin-like collar high around his neck yet cut low to his chest in front, its edges dancing with metallic embroidery in the candlelight. The garments emphasized his tall form, broad chest and shoulders, hard-muscled arms, proud neck to perfection. His hair was unbraided and shone lustrous in the glow of the wavering flames, and he smelled lightly of leaves and forests and wind in the trees. This was not a garment made for working; he had obviously bathed and chosen this clothing with care for something, or for someone. And he had not expected me to be there, was angry, even, that I was there. Rumil was wrong. I was wrong.

I flushed with humiliation and heartache, as I knew I would. If only I had not come! I would have to make as un-awkward a retreat as possible for both of us.

I steeled myself and looked up into his eyes, now a stormy blue-gray. I saw what I had feared most to see: weariness, pain, and worst of all, doubt - a feeling I knew Haldir was unaccustomed to.

"Haldir," I savored his name and reached up to touch his cheek I told him that I knew I should not have come to him. As he moved to speak, I put a trembling finger to his full lips and asked him to please hear me before he said anything, before I left. I took his silence as permission.

"You always praise others for their successes," I began carefully, "then blame yourself if they fail. You should be blaming us for Allinde falling ill – I know you shoulder the blame instead. You mustn't be so unfair to yourself."

I looked in his eyes again and saw that they flashed dangerously.

"Haldir," I begged him as he walked slowly away from me and parted the curtains to look out upon Methentaurond, "the weight of the world is not your duty alone to bear - you have passed it on to us, as it was meant to be. The Valar will not fail you. Believe in Eru's love; don't doubt your own worth. My Lord Haldir," I pleaded with my hand on my heart, trust me in this. Trust me, just this once."

Then he turned and took my chin in his palm, raising my face to his own. "I trust you," he said simply with a rare and gentle smile. "It is chance I fear to trust, when the lives of so many who trust me to protect them lie in my hands."

A great burden lifted from my shoulders - he trusted me! Those three words I had waited and longed for since the moment we had met. "Who told me," I said quietly, touched deeply by his declaration, "that even a small person could change the course of the future? Let it go, Haldir," I dared to plead. I reached up to caress his forehead and he closed his eyes. "It is consuming you. Let your mind rest, let your heart be at peace," I begged him, trailing my hand down to his chest and feeling at once the taught, controlled, awesome power of his body. Slowly I dared to move my one hand lower, down the soft fabric over his ribs and onto his tightly flexed abdomen. He did not stop me. I paused there, unnerved and unsure what to do, only staring at his closed eyes, his parted lips, trying to memorize his dear face at that moment. So strong and noble and beautiful he was, inside and out, I could hardly bear it. How could I presume to touch him, I reprimanded myself. I drew in a sharp, shuddering breath and removed my hand.

"Marian," he commanded in a strained voice, capturing my hand in his and placing it over his heart once more. "You have not answered my question. What are you doing here? What do you want?"

I looked up into his eyes, which smoldered as he opened them with unspoken, hidden thoughts, and his face - it was if he had never smiled at all. Had he turned cold again so quickly? Was he belittling my feelings? Clearly he could see how I was dressed; why I had come. Why must he make me say it?

"I can see that you are expecting someone," I said unevenly. "I should go."

"I assure you that I neither expect, nor desire, anyone. . . else." His grip on my hand did not loosen. In fact, he pressed it tighter to his chest. "Tell me what you want, Marian."

"I want you," I whispered. Any shred of pride or composure I had was gone, my heart standing more exposed before him than my trembling body through the thin fabric upon it. "I. . . need. . . you."

"You would offer yourself to me," he said, his voice grown deep, "knowing that in a matter of days I can offer you nothing in return, no promise, no comfort, only to bid you final farewell. . . you would still offer me this?"

"It isn't a selfless offer," I replied shakily. "I can't bear to be parted from you, never to have asked to know you, touch you, if only once. But - if you can't want me - if you don't want me – I'll understand."

"Marian," he growled my name deep in his throat and cupped my face in his hands, "I cannot. . . " and at this denial I shuddered and could not stop the tears from rolling down my face.

"No," he said, his hands caressing my hair, my neck, wiping the tears from my cheeks. "No, you do not understand. I cannot. . . deny you, or myself, any longer. May the Valar forgive me!" he gasped, and pressed his lips onto mine.

It was not a kiss of bodily lust alone. That I had experienced after my husband died, when I was desperate to be touched again. The exchange of lust without love was a feeble, empty thing. No, this was a kiss of Haldir's passion and need and reverence that matched, even exceeded my own. The smooth warmth, the rich autumn-nut taste of his lips caressing mine lay bare and raw that place in my soul that cried out for him, and a tremor rushed through my body. He pulled me against his chest, and he kissed me still. I couldn't stop shaking even then, when we stood so tightly against each other that his warmth and strength radiated through our clothing and I was deliciously, tortuously aware of every tiny point where his body was pressed against mine. We stood still for a while like this, until at last I could breathe evenly, and my trembling turned to calm. I might have stood like this with him forever, folded securely in his arms. But I was consumed with the need to feel his bare skin on mine, to bring him as intimately close as two people can be. And yes, I wanted to wrap myself around him and claim him as my own, if only for just a little while - if only I could figure out how to get his damned shirt off.

I'm not sure how detailed I should be, here on these pages. Just like my image of his proud face started to blur so that I asked him to sit for Sandy's camera, I want to record every touch, every sigh so that I never forget even the slightest detail. But if Rumil ever gets hold of this he'll tease me mercilessly. If anyone else finds it, it won't be fair to Haldir's privacy. But my desire to remember is greater than what small chance there is of someone else finding this journal. After all, I'm rarely without it in my possession.

Seeing my difficulty in understanding his garments, Haldir undid - a zipper, of all things - so neatly hidden in the side of his tunic as to be completely invisible. He also obliged me by helping to remove the rest of his clothing. He did so slowly and neatly, his eyes sparkling at my impatience. My garment was discarded with ease - one smooth and possessive motion of Haldir's hand sent it shimmering to the floor around my feet. He stepped back to look at me, and I flushed instantly at his examination and at his confident stance in standing naked but a short reach away. He'd seen me without clothes before, of course, but, well, not under these circumstances; not with these intentions. Like every time he had disrobed at the Linluin, I couldn't take my eyes away from his body. It was as beautiful, as sculpted and well endowed and magnetic to my eyes as before, but this time it was at full attention.

Suddenly I lost all confidence. I hadn't done this in more than a few years. I've always had to work rather hard to, well, finish. I was afraid of disappointing him. I wondered if his passion would be such that I wouldn't be able to match it, give him everything that he would want. Did elves make love the same way that men did? Would he be gentle? Rough? All of me was both frightened and aching to know. I looked questioningly into his eyes as he patiently waited for me. His gaze assured me that he wasn't displeased.

"I've missed swimming with you," I said, gulping.

"Touch me," he commanded in a low, tantalizing voice. Knowing at last that this night he wouldn't push me away, I reached out to him, running my fingers from his collarbone up to his jaw, my palm resting on his neck. I could feel his pulse beating, strong and swift. He laughed and pulled me firmly against him again. My whole body throbbed as it yielded to the feel of his solid form and smooth skin everywhere against mine. I laughed with joy as well and kissed his jaw, his ear, his neck as his hands explored my back and hips, tasting the faint spiciness of his skin, his scent that made my pulse race whenever he was near. I pressed harder against him, sliding my hands under his silken hair to the nape of his neck as I had fantasized doing so many, many times. Yes, it was as warm and as fragrant there as I had imagined it would be.

Haldir's lips moved in a warm insistent trail down my neck to my shoulders. His hands slid down my hips to cup my bottom and pull me tightly against his solid arousal, radiating with heat against my abdomen. He groaned slightly, and rocking slightly against me, drew his tongue from my collarbone up to my ear, where he whispered soft elvish words that I was much, much too aroused to bother trying to understand. His breath heavier and quicker than before, the rise and fall of his chest told me that he would want much more very soon. Eager as I had been for months for the same thing, I began to pull him with me toward his bed.

As those cloudy covers softly grazed the back of my legs, Haldir took me by the waist and pivoted, falling back onto the covers so that I found myself splayed on top of him. I wanted him so badly inside of me that I began to shift and search for him with my hips. But he laughed again, holding me up so that the object of my search was just out of reach. Pulling me forward, he tasted first one aching nipple and then the other, finding to his amusement that I was terribly ticklish on the right side.

Dear God, if Rumil ever finds out that one side's more ticklish than the other, I'll never, ever hear the end of it. He'll spare no opportunity to allude to this little fact in every innocent subject of conversation he can. Only I'll know what he's talking about, of course, making him confident that it will embarrass me to death anyway and everyone will wonder what's wrong with me. Oh!

"Patience, Amrun nim," Haldir whispered, his own labored breath belying his words. His strong hands explored gently from my waist to my face, and he kissed me deeply once more. Then he released me, leaving me free to do as I would. I looked down at him, spread on the covers below me, his feet resting on the floor, and I took the invitation to heart, touching and tasting every inch of him, feeling his pulse beat quicker, his breathing intensify. Finally when I had concentrated my attentions almost too long on a particularly sensitive area, he pulled me away with a muffled exclamation, and deftly turned me over so that I was now lying beneath him.

There was a merciless humor to his love-making. He had no reason to try and master the harp that he drew out at night to practice – he played my body with the skill and affection of a virtuoso, stroking and kneading my body until it hummed. His lips and fingers worked their way downward and further downward, his golden hair sliding behind across my chest and abdomen. I took great handfuls of it in my grasp at what he was doing to me. The world faded away. I don't know how much time went by. I rushed up from somewhere oblivious and deep in my subconscious where he had taken me – so close, so close to the edge. I writhed and cried out in frustration for him to give me what he had teased me with and denied me. He teased me with it all the more, poising himself above me, touching, toying. Just when I thought I could no longer bear it, with a moan he slid deeply into me at last, filling me completely and perfectly. He held me like that, not moving or speaking, for a long moment. My eyes closed, I tightened my arms and legs around him, savoring the weight of his body on and in mine.

"Open your eyes," he coaxed in a voice rich and smooth as velvet, propping himself up on his elbows. I opened them to his fathomless and slightly unfocused gaze. His eyes and his hair reflected the wavering tongues of candlelight, magical and ethereal. This moment must be when we would have bound ourselves to each other if we had both been elves. I started to speak, but realized that there was nothing I could say that would make this instant any more precious, any less bittersweet than it already was. He knew I loved him; to say it aloud then might have forced a response back from him; a response that he might be too close to giving me, which would mean doom for him. I started to speak; I gasped and held my tongue. He kissed me long and tenderly, and the thought that he did so because he knew what I wanted to say was enough. Even now I go over in my head what I could have or should have said, and I can think of nothing. Sometimes silence is the best choice.

Slowly we began to move together.

If not for my dreams I would not have guessed that Haldir, so masculine and powerful and demanding, could be at once so sweet and tender, or that he would lay bare the heights of his passion so deeply and openly. He called up to the surface a level of wantonness in me that I rarely revealed, and a depth of sensation that I hadn't known my body could reach. Finally, I cried out uncontrollably as the waves of my release washed through me. The powerful shudder, the primal sounds he made at the wild force of his own climax, the way he lay spent on top of me, panting and nuzzling my neck, touched my very soul. These things I will never forget.

Then, in the sweet aftermath, as we caressed each other tiredly and shared precious words of endearment, I found that we were beginning again. How could he be so ready and able again, so soon? I'd forgotten: for all the millenia of his life, he had the youth and stamina of a twenty-year-old, but with the delightful control and experience of countless times that age.

We made love, slept, talked, and made love again. I was awed to find that there were more facets of Haldir's complex personality than I had ever imagined. I was thrilled that he shared some of them with me there in his bed.

The night wore into morning, and I felt time slipping away from us. I lay awake in his arms and gazed at him in the growing light, quietly wiping tears that I couldn't hold back from my cheeks, hoping not to wake him. Of course, he awoke anyway, his eyes wise and sad.

"We knew this time would come, amrun nin," he said gently, and leaned over to kiss me again. "But we have a few more hours to share." He started to say more, caught himself, and then decided to speak. "Tell me," he said pensively, and stroked my hair, "have you a Chosen Name?"

"What does that mean?" I asked him. "You mean another name besides Marian?"

He sat up next to me to explain, becoming quite serious. "Elves have a Father-Name and a Mother-name that are known by all. But we also choose for ourselves a name that is private. Such a name is only given to family, or friend, or to one who is deeply, dearly loved. Do you have such a name?"

"No, I don't. I've never heard of a Chosen Name," I replied carefully. "I just have a middle name, but my parents chose it. I don't like it." Here yet again was another Elvish custom that I was completely unfamiliar with, and I wanted to be sure that I did nothing improper, or anything that would hurt Haldir's feelings.

"My Chosen Name I gave myself when I was but ten years of age," Haldir revealed. "I have given it only to my parents, Rumil and Orophin. Never have I lent or given it to another. I wish to gift you with it, if you will accept it," he said. I could feel the momentousness of this offer in every proud and tensed muscle of Haldir's body as we sat, hip against hip, in his bed. In the set of his mouth as he waited, I could read that because he wouldn't - couldn't - bond with me, he was offering me this in its stead, the most precious thing that he could think of to give me besides what we had shared all during the night and morning.

I sat up and stroked his tautly flexed jaw. "I would love you to," I replied. I wondered if I should put on some clothes and stand up for such a thing, but Haldir pulled me silently into his arms. As he held me, he whispered his private name into my ear, telling me in English what it meant. I smiled into his silken hair – it was perfectly suited to him, to an elf-lord, a name I could easily imagine for him. My heart longed to see the ten-year-old Haldir who had chosen it.

Then he sat back and waited. After a confused moment I realized he was waiting for me to tell him my middle name.

"Elizabeth," I told him, wincing. "Don't ever tell anyone."

He looked at me in a slightly wounded fashion. "I will not," he assured me. "Elizabeth," he repeated. "Queen. It becomes you, adaneth. Your parents chose well."

"Even Rumil doesn't know my middle name," I stressed, horribly embarrassed.

"Not even Rumil," Haldir whispered, and his eyes sparkled possessively as he leaned toward me. He laid me back upon the covers once more. His silver-gold hair falling in a tent around us, he began to say such things with my middle name, and follow them with such actions, that I decided perhaps Elizabeth wasn't such a bad name after all.

/i

We left by the main gate. Haldir led Marian by the hand up the marble stairs and onto the balcony overlooking Methentaurond. From this vantage point the caverns spread away and below us into the evening mist. All along the series of lantern-lit bridges the telain lay suspended among the tall tree-columns, for the first time in my memory dim and unlit in the soft twilight. We followed and stood with him, our number great, so that we formed a long line along the wide steps and down to the landing fronting the curved stone entrance to the Great Hall. As ghosts we appeared in the gathering dusk, shrouded and hooded in the cloaks that we must carefully clasp about us to hide ourselves from prying eyes until we reached the shore. They were a small burden to bear, yet I know it grated on Haldir, the need to slink away from Arda like wraiths in the night, carrying no lanterns, Ithil and the firmament of stars our only guides. The Fellowship stood with us, offering heartfelt well-wishes as we steeled ourselves to depart.

Methentaurond is now yours," Haldir declared in parting, bowing slightly to Marian and including the Fellowship with a sweep of his arm, "Keep it safe and well." Marian and the others bowed deeply in return.

"No longer shall we dwell in Death's Shadow," Haldir then turned and anounced emotionally. "No longer shall we be as shadows of regret before the younger race that has come after. Tonight, we make for the Sea and, the Valar willing, from thence to the Blessed Realm."

Each of us, with a last look as we turned and passed through the entrance and the massive mallorn doors into the night, some wistful, some eager, some grieving, bid Methentaurond namarie.

Haldir led us through the narrow fern canyon and into the crisp, clear spring night, stopping on the rock outcropping that overlooked the pool of the Linluin. Below us the waters lay dark and slumbering, reflecting the few stars whose positions in the indigo sky allowed their light to penetrate the interlaced canopy of redwoods above. Although I knew not what his mind saw as he gazed a moment at the far side of the pool, I saw him squeeze Marian's hand. Some silent message passed between them. Each of us stopped for a moment before the sacred pool in silent farewell, and followed Haldir into the forest.

Much of that first night Haldir spent away from Marian by necessity, leading us onward, sending scouts ahead, of which I was one as my turn came, and inspecting us with military precision as we passed down the trail, making sure that we were all cloaked completely and that none were having difficulty carrying our minimal belongings. A blindfolded Mason, with Dieter and two elves as his guards and guides in the dark, were placed squarely in the middle of our ranks. Allinde's palfrey was carried near the front, draped by Vanimé with the same fabric as our cloaks and attended by Lomion and Lindir. Marian and I walked not far behind them.

"So tell me," I led into the subject skillfully as I walked for a time with Marian, guiding her through the darkness by the arm so she would not falter, "was it good?"

"Was what good?" she whispered back. As if she didn't know.

"IT," I emphasized unnecessarily.

"Rumil, honestly!" she hissed so that the moving shadow in front of us that was Orodren turned and motioned us to lower our voices. "Sorry. Would YOU want someone talking about such private things to others?" she continued in as low a whisper as any mortal could manage. "Oh, wait, what am I thinking. Of course you would."

"Only if it was complimentary," I clarified. "I see you do not deny the event."

'Somehow, Rumil, I have to believe that you already knew that. Now shush, and quit breathing in my ear."

"Well, was it?" I added after a short detour around a fallen tree. Marian was such a delight to tease.

"Was it what?" she growled.

"Complimentary?"

"That's it. The next time we stop I'm walking with Allinde."

"So am I," I said with enthusiasm.

"Great."

We did not stop often. Marian kept apologizing that she, Dieter and Mason were slowing us down in the dark, but this was not entirely true. We proceeded slowly so as not to jar Allinde. When we did stop Marian was true to her word and moved to Allinde's side. Lindir did not welcome her, but neither did he deny her.

There are only a few entries made in Marian's journal of this time of journeying. Perhaps she feared I would discover it; perhaps she was too weary or too heartbroken at Haldir's impending departure. Perhaps she wished to focus all of her waking moments on him, and on Allinde. I do not know. What I do know is that she attended to Allinde with a fierceness that nearly matched that of her love for my brother. It was this devotion, I believe, that finally warmed the cool heart that Lindir had turned toward her, and over the days that followed they slowly mended their friendship.

i

March 19

Thank goodness the sky has been clear so far, and the moon will soon be full. If it hadn't been then I, Dieter and Mason would have had to rely exclusively on clinging to some poor elf's arm to find our way.

I can only follow Allinde's palfrey through the narrow half-trails in the forest that we take during the night. It's when we stop to rest during the day that we can talk and I can help her and Lomion in small ways: A drink of water, a shifting of her bedding, a bite of food. I feel so helpless that I can't do more. I hope that the ships will come in time to save her. I think that Lindir also believes that if she reaches the ships, she will soon be herself again, though he hasn't told me so. She's much too precious to be lost to us all. Allinde is an amazing elf. She lies half-faded and weak, yet she thinks of everyone but herself. Just moments ago she urged me again to make peace with Lindir. If I don't, she said loud enough for him to hear, we'll both be haunted by our estrangement after Lindir leaves. Lindir looked at me for the first time since she became ill with a thoughtful, rather than a resentful eye. It gives me hope that we'll be able to part as friends.

No one besides Allinde has said anything about my night with Haldir – except Rumil - though I'm sure it's no secret. Every time I look at him, my heart sings and cries at the same time. Whenever we catch each other's eye, the memory of last night passes between us. Allinde took one look at me when we gathered last evening and weakly whispered, "You and our Lord Haldir are both glowing tonight, Marian," with a knowing smile. I thought Vanimé might protest, but whatever she thinks, she hasn't told me. I might conclude that elves stay out of each other's personal business. Maybe someone should mention that to Rumil.

/i

i

March 22

We reached the meadow an hour after dawn. The sky became cloudy, but Orodren declared by the smell of the air that it won't rain today. Haldir decided that we will rest below the trees until dusk. His order was a relief - I was exhausted. I'm always exhausted by the time it becomes light: struggling to find our way in the dark is tiresome for Dieter and Mason as well. I write for a few moments if I can, and sleep the instant my head touches the ground.

The past two afternoons when I have woken up Haldir has been there curled around me, warm and possessive. This hasn't elicited undue interest, and I've noticed that those around us who are no more than good friends commonly share the same arrangement. I hope that Haldir will do the same each day. I don't have much opportunity to be near him while we are traveling. He lay behind me concealed in his cloak, covering his face with his hood still as we all must do to avoid detection from the skies above. The elves mourn that they aren't free to lift their faces to the stars, I can tell - they love them so: especially the bright one they call Elendil, which I think must be the North Star. Only the scouts have been allowed to do so, one at a time and only in need. Haldir is taking no chances at being discovered.

Rumil won't give up trying to pry little tidbits out of me about sleeping with Haldir. It's become a game that helps me forget for a few moments at a time that we're coming ever closer to goodbye. I should kick him he's so relentless, but I learned years ago that "Jason" could anticipate my intentions – he's much too quick for me.

/i

i

March 23

Last evening just before dusk we passed the rift in the forest where Bruno found the jewel. It's already overgrown and almost unrecognizable, where the earth shifted. I miss that big dumb dog with his big padded feet and his endless grin. I don't suppose I'll ever stop blaming myself that he's gone.

Once it gets really dark, of course, I hardly recognize anything – just the redwood forest all around us, cool and breezy and comforting in a strange, ancient way, with the moonbeams gently reaching for the forest floor. It helps calm my heart, a little. It reminds me that the world is larger than just this moment, more profound than just my immediate wants and needs. The elves have to go, and Haldir must take them. It matters not a bit that I scream out in my mind – don't leave me!

/i

i

March 25

Last night was foggy and damp, and difficult to see ahead. The elves took a turn in our path at the break of dawn that felt entirely wrong. Haldir stopped us not long after. He spread the word quietly that this was where we would part ways with Dieter and Mason. We said our awkward goodbyes, Mason and I. He told me he would keep our secrets. I don't know whether to believe him or not. I hope Dieter is careful of him.

I made my way past several elves to ask Haldir what was happening. We were going further south, he told me after Dieter and Mason had disappeared through the fog, than the trail I was used to. But there were more people further south, I blurted out in concern, though I knew he was aware of this. Rumil hissed and took one very large step away from me. The silent elves around me grew somehow even more silent. Lord Haldir straightened to his full height, towering over me, and told me haughtily that I was to follow him. Then he sanctimoniously turned on his heels and strode away as though my obedience was a given, which of course it was. Even the feathers on the arrows in his quiver seemed stiffer than a moment ago. Arghhhh! Pride! Elves! Will I ever learn?

/i

One morning as we stopped to rest, I succeeded in nudging Marian into an admission about Haldir. I made sure the others were absorbed in other things and that she was quite tired before I approached her about the subject.

"Fine!" she gave in. "Here's all I'm going to tell you, and I mean all," she whispered sternly. "If you're half as good as your brother in bed then I've made a huge mistake turning you down all of these years."

"Half as good?" I protested as she turned her back on me to throw rocks and sticks out of her way and roll out her bedding. "HALF AS GOOD?" How insulting.

I knelt down next to her to straighten her sleeping bag. "What, specifically, do you erroneously believe I am half as good at as Haldir?" I asked in a wounded voice.

"Uh-uh, Rumil," Marian warned, and sat down with an exhausted thump. "You probably listened to the whole thing anyway."

"Marian!" I jerked back from her in shock. "Do you truly think I would do such a thing?"

Plainly Marian thought she had gone too far. "I'm sorry." She quickly sat up and apologized, taking my hand in hers and squeezing it worriedly. 'Of course you wouldn't do that to me or your brother. I'm so sorry, Rumil, I didn't mean it, please forgive me."

"I forgive you," I said piously, and stood to leave, as I was one who had the first watch. I realized with a mild amount of guilt that she was quite upset.

"Of course, the caverns DO echo," I commented to myself, appearing to be absorbed with adjusting the string of my bow. "Do they not, Gladrel?" I glanced at her settling in not far away from Marian.

"What? Oh, why yes, they do," Gladrel replied, catching on instantly.

Marian's mouth dropped in horror.

"You are so gullible," I lamented, and instinctively ducked. It was fortunate for me that I did.

i

March 26

In spite of Rumil's attempts at good humor and the resilience of the elves, regardless of the eagerness of most of the elves to reach the Sea, we are a melancholy sight. Or we would be, if anyone could look closely enough, learn to shake off whatever magical trick of the eye makes the elves pass silently and almost invisibly through the forest. Cloaks drawn about themselves and hoods over their heads, the elves appear as no more than shadows among the velvety night among the trees. Shadows of regret, Haldir had called himself and them. It is a far different thing than the faint and wondrous glow of Lindir, Gladrel and the other elves I traveled with to reach Methentaurond, and much sadder to my eyes.

We have emerged from the edge of the forest into the open. There is a distinct air of both heightened caution and excitement about the elves. Despite how insistently they're drawn forward, how their pace through the slumbering forest quickens, they will stay in the protective arms of the woods tonight.

The last fading moonlight before the dawn has revealed to our sight what the elves, and eventually I, have smelled and heard in the night, what I have always loved but now dread to finally see: A long slope of tan grassland with scattered trees and mounds of pale rock;; a heavy, salty dampness in the air; below, a dark thin ribbon of what must be the highway; a few scattered house lights dotting the meadows; grassy bluffs segregated by dark rows of cypresses marching toward the West, and there! If I raise my gaze and look furthest - gray under the blue-gray sky the color of Haldir's eyes, echoing the braying of sea lions and the sharp calls of gulls with the first light of dawn bright on their white bellies; sparkling with the fading reflections of moonlight, booming low and insistent – lay the vast, rolling expanse of the Pacific.

/i

From the song "Into the West", from the Lord of the Rings Return of the King Soundtrack, sung by Annie Lennox

Paraphrased from The Silmarillion, by J.R.R. Tolkien


	37. Ch 37: There are Gold Heelprints

Title: The Tale of Marian

Chapter: 37?

Rating: PG13 this chapter.

Pairing: OFC/Haldir

Genre: Adventure/Romance/perhaps a little Angst

Timeline: AU, modern times.

Beta: None this chapter.

Feedback: Welcomed, appreciated. Constructive criticism always appreciated.

Warnings: Angst - lots of it.

Author's Notes: This is a work in progress.

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1 for disclaimer.

THE TALE OF MARIAN

Chapter 37 – There Are Gold Heelprints on the Fading Staircases of the Stars 1

i

_March 28_

_What is it that twines one person's soul with another's so completely that, like a long cord of macramé, it can only be unknotted one painful twist or rough pull at a time? After, when laid side by side, each strand is curled and reshaped by the other so that from that time forward each cord retains this shape, far different from that which it was before it was part of such an intricate, miraculous pattern?_

_I lay restless and wakeful in Haldir's arms as yesterday waxed beneath the trees and we waited for dusk to fall. I held his hands tightly in my own, held them around me and against my chest as he lay close against my back, curled around me. I would not let go against the pressure that was insistent upon unraveling my very core; against the fate that will soon pull him apart from me. Yet, I want him safe and away with Allinde and the others, where they can dwell in health and peace as they were meant to. I'm at war within myself. The cords strain, and fray. I must hold on._

_I watched the low bank of fog sit in a thick band along the horizon all day, then move inland in the late afternoon, even across the highway and up the slope to waft among the trees. I expected it to be cold, but instead it blanketed the grassy slopes and held the spring afternoon's brief warmth against the earth. Haldir mustered the scouts early, and we started down the slope well before dusk, protected from view by the low-lying fog. The elves slipped silently through the waist-high grass in small groups, advancing slowly toward the highway below. The muffled booming of the unseen surf guided us. The sound and dull headlight-glow of the occasional car on the highway kept us wary._

_House-sized and weather-worn outcroppings of rock loomed now and then before us and we skirted around them, pausing at each for additional cover as another small group advanced to the next outcropping. We watched, just able to mark their positions in the white mists around us._

_I reached out to steady myself against the rough, gray-white rocks, my hand contacting polished-smooth, blackened patches on the outermost boulders. Haldir stopped by my side at one such spot as I ran my hand across the curious markings. His mouth quirked knowingly._

_"Oliphants," he told me in a low voice that did not carry in the moist air, but was warm and melodic near my ear. Another cord in my heart strained and pulled. "There was more rock, less earth here long ago. Taller than half a dozen elves, the mighty ones scratched their shoulders against these rocks here. . . and here."_

_"Mastadons?" I wondered._

_Haldir nodded. "They made their way here from the South, long ago. Aforetimes they were only creatures of rumor overheard in tales among the campfires of Men who moved West before them. They were a wonder to us, when first we beheld them."_

_"You saw the elephant," I whispered to him as Lindir came to our side, and I grasped at a memory that buoyed my desperate hope for them. "When easterners came west to search for gold, they said they were "going to see the elephant," I told them both. "They meant that the road might be fraught with struggle and misfortune, but that amazing sights and fantastic adventures waited for them in California; experiences that could happen nowhere else in the world."_

_"Like the ships of Aman," Lindir nodded. He smiled at me for the first time in weeks. I felt that he might finally have forgiven me for Allinde's condition._

_"Come," Haldir urged us forward. "Our true hope lies ahead, from the Sea. When we approach the road we must be wary, and quick."_

_The gray afternoon light dimmed as we descended further into the fog and neared the highway. We did not cross one at a time, or in small groups. Instead, Haldir spaced us out all along the verge near the road, our crouched forms hidden among the rocks, the tall grass and a few scattered trees. Then, when the faintest purr of a car engine could no longer be heard even by elvish ears, Haldir signaled us to cross the road together. Only when all had again disappeared beneath their cloaks in the misty afternoon gloom on the other side did Haldir leave the edge of the road to join us. If anyone had been looking and had been keen-eyed enough to see movement, the elves might have seemed to their eyes to be the faint shadow that might or might not have been there for a moment, out of the corner of their eye._

_If it had been a clear afternoon, the grassy bluffs below us would have been difficult to cross without being exposed. Drivers along the coast highway were always drawn to the view of the ocean, even at night. But in the obscuring fog the road had been the last treacherous boundary between us and the sea. The waist-high grasses made shhhhhhh. . . sounds in the gentle wind; the surf pounded beyond on the rocky shore. Gray-green bushes mounded hip-high among the grass, their twigs grown hard and stiff in the battering winds off the sea. Shore finches rustled and twittered within them as we approached. The shrubs looked not so very different from an elf hunched motionless and silent beneath a gray-green cloak._

_"We make for that group of cypresses nearest the bluff's edge," Haldir directed, and I could just make out large, darker forms not far ahead to the south._

_The fog began to thin. The cypresses loomed closer, gray-green shadows leaning toward land, buffeted into their brittle shape by the winds that creaked in their branches and sent twigs and juniper-like needles to litter the ground around them. Taking Haldir's lead, we stooped to pass under the outermost tree's branches to discover a small sandy hollow nestled inside, and an elf in gray-green garb waiting to greet us._

_"All is prepared as you have ordered, my Lord," the elleth said quietly, and motioned us inside. Allinde's palfrey was brought in under the trees, her attendants stooping low to clear the branches. As we entered, the space beneath the canopy of trees seemed to expand so that in some places we could stand upright. The roar of the crashing surf, although the sea was only yards away over the bluff edge, was muted by the thick growth. The wind had strengthened and was now blustering in the branches above, but the air was only softly moving below. The elleth pointed us each to soft patches of earth among the trunks where she had spread fragrant ferns and grasses to rest on. There, where prying eyes could not observe our presence, we settled and waited for night to fall._

_But Haldir was more interested in taking Vanimé, Lindir, Rumil and me to examine what lay beyond the trees._

_The fog had continued to thin. We could see here and there the faint western sun slanting horizontally through the branches On the promontory just outside the cypresses a high rock outcropping rose, crowned by an odd, towering concrete statue in the shape of a missile, at least nine times as tall as a man. Staying low to keep ourselves from forming moving silhouettes above the outcropping, we climbed around it to look at the side facing the ocean. A tile mosaic of a white-robed person with palms out was set into the surface. Universal and almost alien in its features, the face was neither male nor female and of no particular race, its expression serene but powerful. Its large eyes looked to the west. At the very crown, above the face, was a large orange-tiled hand, its fingers and thumb straight and placed together, pointing toward the heavens. As I looked at the hand, a bright ray of the setting sun fell onto it through the misty air. Its palm glowed so brightly in this shaft of light that I had to shield my eyes. Then the light dimmed again along the horizon, and I lowered my hand to see that whatever artist had shaped this peaceful but profound sentinel in this lonely place had set tiles of shimmering gold leaf in the concave palm of the crowning hand. The statue was a clear landmark but it looked like it had been created no earlier than the '60's. The elven shipwright wouldn't know about it: Haldir had probably meant to tell him to look for it, but hadn't been able to. Bemused at the statue but on a more pressing errand, we climbed down the rocks to the bluff edge to overlook the cove below._

_At a somewhat stable point along the bluff's crumbling and treacherous edge, Haldir led us down a faint steep curving trail leading to but a small ribbon of sand at its southern base. Here a few of the cypresses leaned over and shed their wind-blown needles onto the sand and rocks below. From the eastern and northern sweep of the cove's edge protruded a flat shelf of glistening-black wet rock, its face battered again and again by the high tide that sent salt water sprays high into the air, coating our cloaks with tiny droplets. I couldn't tell how deep the water was, or how close the ships might come into the cove – if they were to come at all. Yes, I had grown up on the coast, but my father had been a lumberman, not a fisherman. Yet to my amateur eye, perhaps at the early hours of a receding tide, this cove looked surprisingly promising. More importantly, I was sure that Haldir had chosen it with the utmost care and purpose. And the cove was veritably invisible from the bluffs and the highway above._

_"Shall we await the ships here in the cove?" Vanimé asked Haldir, eyeing the crashing surf uncertainly._

_"There is but one way out, along this path," he warned. "It could too easily become a trap. No, we must await Cirdan in the shelter of the trees above, and be at the ready. When the gray ships come, we must make the utmost haste."_

_"Rumil," he continued, "you will take the first watch with me."_

_My stomach sank that in the passing hours ahead I wouldn't have any time with Haldir at all. I was already grieving that any opportunity for us to be together in private again might already have passed, and I would have to tell him goodbye without making love to him one last time. This wasn't a time for love, I reminded myself, it was a time for caution, and watchfulness. He seemed to read my thoughts, but made no move to comfort me as he and Rumil left for whatever posts they had chosen. He only nodded at me the slightest bit, his look demanding that I understand his duties. I tried not to feel abandoned, and nodded back._

_Drawing my cloak tightly about me in the rising wind, I followed Vanimé back up to the copse of cypresses. Dusk had fallen, but it was even darker within. Vanimé led me to the bower where Allinde's palfrey lay. I sat down next to her. Too weak and lethargic now to take my hand, I sensed her trying to reach toward me over her blanket. I felt for, and gently squeezed her thin hand._

_"You are afraid," she said faintly and matter-of-factly._

_Oh yes, I was afraid: Afraid that the elves would leave, and afraid they wouldn't be able to leave; afraid that Allinde would fade before the ships could save her; afraid even the ships couldn't save her, even if – when – they came. Afraid that Rumil would become ill if he stayed. Afraid we would be discovered and tragedy would come to them, in this world where there was always much tragedy, yet so much goodness and beauty. Afraid that I wouldn't be able to protect Methentaurond after the elves were gone. What wasn't I afraid of?_

_"Do not now give in to your fears," Allinde counseled in the cool dark. 'The Valar reward those whose faith does not falter."_

_"I don't know them as you do," I told her, ashamed of my sudden doubts._

_"Yet you have deep faith in the One, this I know. Do not waver in this late hour, when what you wish, and what you know must be, war with each other inside of your heart." She paused from the tiresome efforts to speak._

_"You need to save your strength," I urged her. "I'll be alright, I promise. And so will you."_

_I felt that she smiled in the dark. "What will be, is meant to be," she whispered, and then she slept._

_"You are kind to her," I heard Lindir say near me as I stood._

_"She's my friend," I said carefully, unsure what to say next._

_"As I am yours," he replied in tone that slightly chastised himself. Then he led me by the hand to a soft place under the branches that he told me Haldir had ordered to be prepared for us to rest. I could see Lindir faintly by a faint glow through the branches. The moon must be rising somewhere in the sky. He sat down next to me. "We have become somewhat bitter of late, I admit. We regret that Men think much of themselves, but little of Arda itself. But the darkness will not prevail against the Second Children, Marian, not while hope remains," he said. "Morgoth may cloud Men's judgment and turn many to evil, but you have seen clearly the truths that we have sought to teach you – as clearly as any mortal can in this age. You will remind your kin of the love they have for Arda and all that is in it, for you love it maybe even as deeply as we do. No, Iluvatar did not create you, even beyond the will of the Valar, so that you should fail – of this I am sure."_

_"Perhaps you could share your confidence with Haldir," I suggested, and Lindir laughed softly._

_"You are dear to him in ways immeasurable," he leaned back and sighed. "Yet did you expect that such regard would release you from that which he demands of you?"_

_"Hardly," I admitted._

_"You're been a wonderful teacher," I told him. "I'm proud to be your friend. I'll miss you, Lindir, a great deal."_

_We sat in comfortable silence for a long time. I must have fallen asleep, for I was startled when Lindir roused himself._

_"Yestaré2 approaches," he announced fatefully, and I looked at the faint glow of my watch under my cloak. It was almost midnight._

_I followed Lindir out from under the cypresses and climbed to where Haldir stood just below the crown of the outcropping from which the useless statue rose. The fog had thickened again as the night grew colder, and it drifted and curled around the rocks, chilling me beneath my cloak. Behind us, the elves began to quietly sing – magical, ethereal song like the wind in the trees._

_"The fog is a blessing to hide us from prying eyes, but is a bane to us as well. How will Cirdan see that we await him? And what sign can we give that will not be seen by those from whom we must remain hidden?" Vanimé spoke what all of us feared, and what all of us knew Haldir had no answer for._

_"We must wait," Haldir replied steadily, "and keep hope and faith strong within us. I can foresee naught else that we can do, lest some fortuity present itself to us."_

_"Yestaré has only just begun," Rumil commented, approaching us through the night mists and stopping at Haldir's side. "Fortune and the aiwenor3 have served us well thus far. The eastern watch is now at Gladrel's command," he reported to Haldir. Then he said over his shoulder, "I for one will take some rest beneath the trees." Lindir did not miss Rumil's rather obvious hint, and skipped over the rocks after him until they quickly disappeared in the dark and the fog. I crossed the rocks to Haldir and was greeted with a strong, warm arm around my waist._

_"There may be little time for us to speak henceforth, so let us do so now," he began, his eyes still searching the west from beneath the hood of his cloak._

_"Let me come with you," I couldn't keep myself from begging._

_"We have already spoken of those things that must now come to pass, you and I. You cannot sail to the Undying Lands. This cannot be undone by man or elf or Vala, no matter how great the need. If my heart ruled, I would take you and flee far away, like Luthien and Beren, forsaking your kin and my own. But I cannot. You cannot._

_"Love and loyalty to my oath and my kin hold my course. Do not wish ill of me for the path that I must take, which is not yet fulfilled, for I take it with regret so deep as to be unnamable._

_"You are the hope of your people, no less than your forefather Aragorn was the hope of the Men of an earlier Age. Do not allow what is fair to grow unseen and unheeded from too much familiarity. It is your task, to heal the marring of Arda as you may. If you should fail, all the valor and love of the elves will have been in vain."_

_Then he drew me close and whispered regretfully, "Elizabeth. For many nights now I have not dreamed of you. I know not why. It saddens me deeply. Perhaps, though Ekkaia4 itself will stand forever between us, we may yet find each other in slumber ever and anon, and walk the flowered meadows of Dol Amroth, or ascend the mallorn of Methentaurond together."_

_"I haven't dreamed of you lately either," I confessed, "and it scares me. If I can't be with you here, or in Valinor, at least let me dream of you! "_

_"Know this, melamin:5 From this day, though I sail the Straight Road and walk with you no more, I shall take no other to my side."_

_"No!" Although I thrilled to hear him so devoted, I dreaded the meaning of what he was saying. I knew if he made a promise, he would keep it no matter how miserable it would make him. "You have thousands, tens of thousands of years before you. You can't make such a promise! I won't have you be alone forever – I want you to find someone, and be happy! I could never love anyone else after you, Haldir, but it's different for me – I'm not going to live forever. Soon you'd have made a promise to a dead person, don't you understand that? It would be such a waste. I could die tomorrow, but you. . . "_

_". . . have found my Lady. It is you, and always will be. It is you who must not make such a vow to me. You will have need of someone, and the hearts of Men - "_

_"My heart is just as strong as yours is, and as true!" I argued. Haldir, please don't promise me this. It's not fair to you. I – "_

_"Your flame does indeed burn as brightly as the rising sun, amrun nin,6 but I will not hold you to such a vow. As for my part, it is done, and I regret it not, nor will I ever." Then he stood, and refused to talk about it any further, except to say, "Perhaps at the end of days when it is foretold that Arda will be remade, we may meet again, you and I."_

_Dawn has come, and the fog remains. No sign of elvish ships has been seen even by keen elvish eyes, only a scattering of fishing boats making their way out to sea. I, on the other hand, can barely see the water past the outer rocks of the cove. The sea is calm; the tide is low – too low, I believe, for a ship to enter the cove. I wonder how deep the draft of an elvish sailing ship might be. I wonder many things. The waiting is so hard. Haldir stands as he has since last evening, a lone sentinel below the statue, a tall, proud figure facing into the west like the prow of a ship. The ocean winds that lean the cypresses toward the land will never bend him back away from the west._

/i

Thus we waited, hoping to be discovered by some but not by others. Naturally, we had prepared for a means of escape should we be discovered by those from which we must remain hidden, yet we knew that our chances would not be good.

I took the time that we were given in waiting to bid my brother farewell, and all the rest of my kin. There was food and drink enough for all, enough even to keep us a few days more if by some chance (the greater chance, if truth be told) that Cirdan did not come. The elleth we met at the cypresses had seen to that. I thanked her in as many ways as she would allow, which were not nearly as many as I wished.

The morning gave way to afternoon, the wind rose and the fog wafted across the bluffs with it, leaving only a thin haze. There was no sign of Cirdan. Should we light a bonfire on the beach? – it would smoke and draw rangers intent on issuing tickets. Should we send some kind of electronic signal? – it was unlikely the Eldar could receive messages in such a form. No, we had gone over such options long before we planned to come here. None were the answer that the palantir had been. Now even that way was closed to us.

We worried for Cirdan. Could the evil of the palantir have traveled even with him to Valinor, hidden within the Orthanc Stone? As far as Haldir knew, Aragorn and his sons did not use them, only kept them safe and hidden. Perhaps only the Anor Stone had come to hold evil in later times, slowly, and without our awareness.

Late afternoon arrived, the beach warmed a little as the fog receded and the sun grew stronger. We were exposed on the bluffs, unable to board the ships unnoticed even if they should come. Even Haldir was forced to retreat into the trees again. We had become nervous, and hope was fading – I could feel it.

"I'm sorry," Marian told Haldir, "I'm the one that asked you to trust to faith, and now. . . "

"The fault is not yours," Haldir said, still stoic and firm in spite of the manner in which our fortunes had seemed to turn. "I would have brought us here in any case. It is our only chance, and so had to be taken nevertheless. We will not surrender to despair – Yestaré has not yet forsaken us."

The afternoon passed slowly. The tide came in, thunderous and wild, and with it the fog and the cool sea-air of the spring evening came inland once more. Even the gulls and pelicans deserted us. Haldir returned to the bluff edge above the hidden cove, eyes piercing the growing mist as if commanding Cirdan to appear by the strength of his will alone. Marian, Vanimé and I joined him, our cloaks heavy and damp with sea spray. We stood silently, and watched the Sea.

"Yestaré wanes," Vanimé lamented after a time. "Darkness approaches."

The fog thickened so that one might think that all of Arda conspired against us. The tide began to recede.

"If Cirdan has not yet seen us, there is little chance that he will now in this foul air. The tide will be at its lowest long before midnight, preventing the ships from coming into the cove between the protection of these bluffs," Vanimé cried out in frustration.

"Indeed, if he is to come," Haldir reluctantly agreed, "he must come now!"

Yet we stood there still, refusing to give in to our growing despair, Marian ever at Haldir's side. The sun was not far from setting, I knew, though the fog became so thick that we could hardly see our hands in front of our faces. In fact Marian lifted her hand up in front of her to test the effect, and a most unusual thing happened. Through the thick fog, the stones in her ring glittered. In disbelief, Marian looked closer, bringing the ring toward her face. The stones glittered again, as elvish rings are wont to do when they are trying to tell you something.

Whatever the ring's message, Marian understood it. She seemed to come to some unwelcome decision, hesitating only a moment before stepping away from Haldir to grab my arm.

"You have to help me find my pack. Come on, I can't see where I left it in this fog."

"Marian," I protested, loath to leave my brother's side, "I don't think now is the time…"

"Now, now, right now!" she babbled hysterically, dragging me down over the rocks.

I led her back down into the trees, or rather I turned her in the right direction and caught her again and again as she pulled me along, tripping on rocks in the dim evening and swearing horribly. Fumbling frantically and throwing the contents of her pack aside, she pulled out a carved box from the very bottom. We stumbled back up over the rocks to where Haldir and Vanimé stood, sentinels in the mists. She dragged Lindir back with us as well. If I had stopped to examine Marian's things I might have found her journal then and there, but what she was carrying back toward Haldir appeared to be much more interesting.

Marian held out the box to Haldir with shaking hands. "Here, take it, take it before I change my mind!" she cried and thrust it into Haldir's hand.

"What is this?" Haldir asked wearily, turning the box in his hand.

"Please forgive me, I don't know if I'm doing the right or the wrong thing." She took a deep breath and plunged on. "Remember how you told me I would open Pandora's Box if given it, and I asked you if you would not do so also? Well, this is Pandora's box," she said, and even in the fog I could sense fearfulness in her words. "If you open it, it may bring more than those who you wish for, but I believe now that this is what I was meant to do with it."

Haldir slowly turned the box around, and lifted the catch. A brilliant and wondrous light, silver-gold and more pure than the light of Anor and Ithil combined, exploded out of the wooden box and lit Haldir's eyes like a consuming fire beneath his hood, washing the bluffs around us in a mighty glow. Quickly, Haldir closed the box as we stared at Marian and him in wonder.

"A Silmaril?" Haldir whispered to her, awe-struck.

"Can it be. . . " we rushed to Haldir's side and exclaimed. "Where did you. . . ?"

"Bruno found it," Marian explained guiltily. "On the trail, during the earthquake."

We stood dumbstruck. With dawning realization, Haldir called me to his side and with me ran to the base of the statue. Purposefully he tucked the box into his belt, grabbed a rope from his belt and threw it up and around the statue. Hope and fear surged within me together as I began to understand what he intended. But would he be in time? I took the end and secured it to the statue's base, holding it taunt. Scaling the statue easily, Haldir disappeared into the whiteness above. The others gathered around me and we waited silent and tense for a long moment.

Suddenly, the light of the Silmaril broke forth from above, shooting a bright stream of light into the west, piercing through the fog to light the very horizon where sky and sea mingled, just as the setting sun dipped out of sight. Haldir had removed the jewel of Feanor and reached with it to the heavens, holding it before the golden palm of the statue's hand. Then just as suddenly the light went out. Minutes passed – nothing. Haldir had returned the Silmaril to its hiding place. We all understood his actions – such a light would have already drawn instant attention from near and far. It was an extremely dangerous thing, and the only thing, to do. All at once the light burst forth from the hand again; and then fog, and darkness. We waited. Again – nothing.

Then Haldir tried a third time. We knew it would be the last. If the ships did not come now, we would all have to flee. The Silmaril cleared a wide path in the fog to reveal a darkening sky, and a sparkling constellation hovering above the horizon. "It is Soronúmë!" Vanimé cried.

"The Eagle of Manwë!" I exclaimed to Marian, not believing my own eyes. "Not since the Third Age has this constellation graced the menel7 above Arda. It is a sign from the Valar!"

As we gazed longer, the fainter stars of Soronúmë faded away, belying that the constellation had never been there.

"Glín!8" Lindir pointed as Haldir continued to hold the Silmaril against the golden hand. "The bright stars on the left and above - they grow brighter still!" Indeed, as we stood forward to see better, the stars grew in size and brilliance, seeming to float toward us just above the Sea itself. Then, they WERE floating upon the Sea, and their yellow beams of light separated, becoming to our eyes as golden sails above two deep gray shadows on the gray waters.

"Rumil, what are they?" Marian asked me, straining to see what we elves could now see and yet hardly accept. The golden sails drew closer. The clear, clean peal of a trumpet pierced the surrounding fog.

"It is Cirdan! It must be!" came the cries of others who had emerged from the trees behind us. Lindir quickly drew a horn from his side, a horn that had not been sounded in an Age, and returned the call.

"Make for the cove!" Haldir shouted. "Go with care, but quickly!" We climbed down to the rocky ledge of the cove, the receding tide calming with the approach of the ships. Haldir held the jewel firmly aloft as they entered the cove and made anchor, sails billowing and lanterns aglow. A boat was let down and approached the rocks, and the light of the jewel was extinguished. I prayed for Haldir to make his way to Marian and me quickly, for we had refused to leave the base of the statue while he remained. We hurried down the slippery trail to the cove. As we reached the sand, a tall and utterly imposing elf stepped out of the boat onto the rock shelf and approached us. Surely this was one of the Eldar that first held his hand to his heart and extended it to Haldir in greeting. Haldir returned his gesture, and grinned at him in relief. "Mae govannon adna Ambar , beleg Cirdan,9 he said in reverence.

Marian stared at the elf in shock. Tall, broadly sinewed and bearded, with long wavy silver hair and heavy strings of pearls about his neck, he stood before her, a most unusual and magnificent elf, and smiled.

"Poseidon," Marian gasped once she regained her voice.

"That name is reserved for Ulmo, Lord of Waters," he chuckled kindly in greeting. "I am Cirdan, shipwright of Aman." Cirdan glanced with interest from Marian to Haldir, whose arm was tightly around her waist. His piercing blue eyes comprehended much from what he saw.

Suddenly an unwelcome scream crossed the heavens - a jet engine unseen above the fog. Marian grabbed my hand urgently.

"Our presence here is a secret no longer," Haldir told Cirdan. "We must make haste!"

"My ships are at your service," Cirdan announced and signaled toward the longboats that had been secured at the rock's edge by his crew on the now still waters of the Pacific, "at long last, my friend, we welcome you home."

With Cirdan's most efficient crew, Marian, Haldir and I assisted our kin in boarding the boats. After a few tense minutes which no doubt seemed longer than the time that had actually passed, only we and Cirdan remained on the shore. Cirdan stood calmly by with the last of the boats, unfazed by a second roar of jet engines that passed low above the cove.

"We shall meet again soon, do not doubt," I told Haldir and embraced him warmly. Then he turned to Marian.

"The promise you made to us and to Arda now lies within your heart," he held her by the arms and told her. "If you. . . " and his voice broke.

My Marian tried to be brave, but her shoulders shook and tears rolled from her eyes. "I won't fail you," she said in a voice of determination mixed with grief. "I'll never forget you," she managed to add, and flung herself into his arms.

"Nor I, you, amrun nin," her replied when with difficulty they broke their embrace, and he kissed her on the forehead, in tears. "Namarie."10

"Take care of her, Rumil," he charged me, and turned away to step into Cirdan's boat.

"I love you," Marian whispered, then put her hands over her mouth when he stopped in mid-stride, his shoulders stiffening with anguish. Marian never could learn how to whisper low enough for an elf not to hear. Then he straightened his back and stepped into the boat with Cirdan. I knew that not turning back to Marian was the hardest thing that Haldir had ever done.

Cirdan turned and looked at me - this was my last chance to go with all of my kin.

"Rumil, go with them!" Marian cried to me and tried to push me forward. "You're not safe here! Go!"

I shook my head no. With a wave of his hand Cirdan cast off, and the boat sped toward the ship.

I held Marian back with difficulty. If I had not, she would have dived into the Sea after Haldir, so distraught was she.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart, but we must flee now!" But Marian would not turn away. She was now oblivious to our peril.

"Marian!" I shook her as Cirdan's ships turned and disappeared into the fog. A searchlight appeared from the Sea, casting along the face of the bluffs at the breakwater outside the cove. We could now hear the hidden boat's engines in the darkness beyond. Marian blinked at me through her tears and seemed to regain her bearings.

"The Coast Guard!" she cried. "Oh Rumil, they have to make it! They have to!"

"So must we!" I half pushed, half dragged her toward the path u the side of the cove. "We cannot be trapped here between the Sea and the highway. Run!"

Through the fog of Marian's despair rose a steely resolved. She grasped my hand and ran with me up to the bluffs and into the cypresses. Ignoring the small store of food and other telltale signs of hasty departure, Marian grabbed what was left of her pack on the run. We broke out of the cypresses and plunged through the tall grass. Sirens wailed through the night. Tires screeched on the road ahead, and several pairs of headlights shone dimly through the fog.

"I won't let them find you," Marian hissed vehemently and kept an iron grip on my arm. We crouched low on the ocean side of the road. Flashlights played feebly up and down the saturated pavement. Two sets of headlights bounced and veered off the road toward the water.

"Now!" I urged Marian, and we darted across the road and took cover in the shrubs along the ditch on the landward side. The beam of a powerful flashlight shone onto the road where we had been only an instant before. Marian and I crouched unmoving under our cloaks.

"I thought I saw something move," a male voice called from a few yards away.

"Probably just a deer," another voice answered impatiently from further away. "Captain said that light came from the beach, not from the road. Come on, this way."

The flashlight hovered indecisively along the edge of the road for an endless moment longer.

"Can't see a thing in this damned soup anyway," the first voice mumbled, and the flashlight beam turned away from us and retreated back along the highway.

As quietly as Marian could manage, we worked our way up the hill until we broke through the low-lying layer of fog and the stars appeared bright in the firmament above. From the cover of a rock outcropping, we turned and looked back toward the Sea. Two starts sparkled particularly bright and golden in the sky just above the fog bank, followed by a squadron of jets that would be too late. As we watched, a brilliant light, too bright for a shooting star, streaked across the heavens and fell to the horizon. Then it and the two sparkling stars dissolved away.

"What was that?" Marian asked me, staring with glazed eyes into the west.

"It was either a comet," I held her against my side and told her gently, "or it was Haldir, returning the Silmaril to its rightful place."

"They made it?" she asked in a daze. "And you're safe now? And Toto too?"

"They made it. We're safe now," I rejoiced as more lights descended onto the beach below us and the jets broke off from pursuing objects that had strangely disappeared.

Thus reassured, Marian collapsed into my arms.

1 From the Poem "Love in Labrador" by Carl Sandburg

2 Yestaré:

3 Aiwenor: the lower sky.

4 Ekkaia: The Outer Sea encircling Middle Earth; the Encircling Sea.

5 Melamin: My love.

6 Amrun nin: My sunrise.

7 Menel: heavens.

8 Glín: Look!

9 Welcome to Earth once more, great one.

10 Namarie: Farewell.


	38. Ch 38: Every Good and Excellent Thing

Title: The Tale of Marian

Chapter: 38/39 – there will be an Epilogue after this chapter.

Rating: PG13 this chapter.

Pairing: OFC/Haldir

Genre: Adventure/Romance/perhaps a little Angst

Timeline: AU, modern times.

Beta: None this chapter.

Feedback: Welcomed. Constructive criticism always appreciated.

Warnings: None.

Author's Notes: This is a work in progress.

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1 for disclaimer.

THE TALE OF MARIAN

Chapter 38 – Every Good and Excellent Thing

"I know that every good and excellent thing in the world stands moment by moment on the razor-edge of danger and must be fought for. . ."

-Thornton Wilder

We stayed for that night and the next in a recess that I found in a rock outcropping further up the hill. Marian was too exhausted and too distraught to go further. She drifted in and out of sleep, grabbing my arm to ask dream- or anguish-induced question: Was Allinde cured now? Haldir had forgotten his harp – we had to get it for him. I had been worried enough when she had asked me if Toto was safe: She sank into a safer childhood place where fantasy mixed with reality. Seeing Cirdan and Haldir recede along the Straight Road had been too unreal for her to accept. But more worrisome still was that when she awoke she would cry quietly, curled up in a ball, or simply rock herself and stare, unfocused, at nothing, and refuse to speak or respond to me in any way. We had no food and only a small amount of water. We couldn't stay in the rocks longer without compromising Marian's health. When dawn came I forced her, against all of my softer feelings for her, to get up and start walking again.

For the next three days I coaxed a reluctant and dazed Marian up the hill, into the trees, and a little way toward home. We traveled during the day for as long as I could get her to, then I let her sleep the rest of each day and through the night. I had no illusion that I could manage to get her to walk in the dark. She would not accept food; she would barely take the water I tipped into her mouth. I had never seen any elf survive the deep depression into which Marian had descended. She appeared to be taking the loss of my brother just as hard as any of my kin suffered the death of a bond-mate. Perhaps, even, it was worse for her than if Haldir had died. I knew I would see my brother again, so my separation from him was bittersweet but bearable, as Orophin's had been. Marian appeared to be fading in front of my eyes. By the end of our third day, in spite of my encouragement and what ministrations I could manage, I became fearful that I might lose her.

I reminded myself that mortals were more resilient than elves in such situations – too resilient, Marian had said to me once – and I persevered. She had told me many times that the redwood forest felt timeless, that it made her feel a small part of a much larger universe, and that she felt right when she was among the great trees. So I made her a bed with fresh ferns, pine and redwood needles each night, fragrant and soft. I kept up whatever conversation I could muster, and held her as she slept, singing her songs of the forests. Truthfully, though I am extremely resourceful, I did not know what else to do.

Finally late on the fourth day since the ships departed, when I was almost at a total loss, she woke up from a fretful sleep, focused her gaze upon me for the first time, and spoke.

"I'm sorry," was the first, deeply remorseful thing that she said to me, in a voice that nearly broke my heart. I asked what in the world she was sorry for.

"That you felt that you had to stay."

"I am not sorry," I told her, and waited.

I'm a disaster." she replied after a time, pulling a lank tress of hair behind her ear.

"You are a total mess," I agreed. "You are scaring me out of my wits."

"Rumil. . . I would never have made it out of that cove without you. I would never have made it out. . . of anything."

"I know," I replied humbly, and sang her back to sleep. But I believe it was the trees that brought her back to me, at first. In the days that followed, it was her promise to Haldir that gave her the will to carry on.

We made it back – this you know from what came after. There is still one thing that you do not know: Why I told you, in the beginning of this tale, that this was a story of love. How was it, do you think, that Marian's despair for Haldir transformed itself into the abiding and loyal passion that she lavished upon Methentaurond and all who cared for it? How did it come about that her boundless devotion to him revived in her the iron strength of will to persevere, and triumph?

I will tell you.

We arrived at last, into the waiting arms of our friends – except Mason's, and curiously Dieter's as well. To our distress, and more especially to Arianna's, we were told that Dieter had not yet returned.

To the expected questions, Marian responded with a reserved voice that my brother and my kin had safely escaped the bounds of Arda, and that I had chosen to remain. They saw the mingled relief and hurt in Marian's eyes, and gracefully did not ask her more; except for Joel. Upon our return Joel again made clear his expectation that Marian surrender to him that which she could not. It would be the last time he would do so.

It happened shortly after I escorted a weary and still heartsick Marian back to the private, comforting familiarity of her talan. Along the way she made the dear offer that I should have it back as my own and she would move to another. I firmly but gently refused. I did not tease her, as I would have before without hesitation, that I would certainly join her there if she asked. It was not a time for teasing. I accompanied her into the front parlor, where she dropped what was left of her backpack onto the bare table. The table had not been bare when we departed. Sensing something was not as it should be, I pulled aside the curtains to her bedchamber. Likewise, it was bare of her possessions.

Turning to me in confusion, she was about to speak when Joel stuck his head into the bedchamber and cleared his throat. In apparent excitement and, if I was not mistaken, some nervousness, he held out his hand and told Marian that he had something to show her. Receiving only a blank look, he stepped into the room and took her hand in his, and led her purposefully to the door of Haldir's talan. To her tired questions, he would only answer that she would have to wait and see. I followed, of course. Joel threw my brother's door open as though it was his own and pulled her inside. He looked back over his shoulder as I entered, clearly uncomfortable with my added presence. I folded my arms over my chest and blinked at him.

Wisely he did not attempt to ask me to leave. Opting to ignore me instead, he led Marian by the hand around my brother's parlor, which now looked nothing like my brother's parlor, pointing out to her with pride where he had placed his things, and hers. Gone were my Haldir's harp and his divan. Gone were the crimson curtains leading to Haldir's bedchamber, replaced by iridescent green ones plundered from who knew what talan.

The truly unfortunate thing for Joel, I told myself to hold my rising temper, was that he obviously expected Marian to be immensely pleased by his redecoration of my brother's chambers into a couple's apartment that existed only in his own ambitions.

"What do you think?" he asked her in momentary and blissful ignorance of her growing horror. "We can live here together now," he told her triumphantly. At her silence, he explained further. "Manage Methentaurond, you and I."

"Where are Haldir's things?" Marian asked weakly, looking dazedly around the changed room, her eyes brimming with tears that would soon fall. I knew that inside, only beginning to heal as she was, the fragile world that she had managed to partially reconstruct for herself on our journey back was shattering.

"He left you, Marian. All of them left," Joel answered with some exasperation, then remembered belatedly that I was still there, behind him. "I'm still here for you. I told you that you can lean on me. We can build what we will of this place now, together," he said, hesitating at last as Marian reached a shaking hand out to touch one of my brother's chairs that remained in the room.

"Where are Haldir's things?" Marian repeated, clutching his chair for support. "What have you done with them?"

"I moved them," he said, becoming somewhat cross at not receiving the response from my poor girl that he had expected. "I've ordered such artifacts to be placed in several of the lower telain across from the Great Hall, where the public will be able to view them. This area should be more private, more controlled," he concluded for himself.

I looked back out the door to the entry garden. We had begun to attract an audience; an audience that looked contrite and uncomfortable.

"Come on, Marian," he chided her, oblivious to the growing storm in her eyes and to the tightening grip that she had on the chair. I would have almost felt sorry for Joel if I had not myself been so incensed at his thoughtless actions and the hurtful effect it was having on my sweet Marian. "Things are different now," he went on. "We need to adapt; to anticipate and prepare for the changes that will come when people arrive. You can't expect that everything will stay exactly the way it was before."

"Oh but I do," she said stubbornly. "That's precisely what we all agreed to when I first chose you to come with me," she said, looking out the door to include everyone standing outside. "Have you all so quickly forgotten why we're here?"

"Of course we haven't, dear," Sandy said, coming in through the doorway while shooting Joel a reproving look that clearly said 'I told you so.' She patted me on the shoulder and then gave Marian a matronly hug. "Everything else is exactly the way it was before you left."

"Thank you Sandy. And it will all stay that way. Nothing in Methentaurond is going to change," she insisted, tears running down her cheeks, her control on the very edge of breaking.

"Put it back," Marian ordered Joel, tilting her chin up and straightening her shoulders in growing resolve. Briefly, I thought she held herself somewhat like my brother. "Put all of Lord Haldir's things back in HIS talan, exactly the way they were before, and don't ever – EVER – touch them again."

Joel stared at her incredulously. "You really do love him," he accused her. "Even now, when you know he's never coming back to you, you still love - him."

"We'll start bringing his things back up," Sandy interjected, taking a wordless hint from me and closing the door to leave only Marian, myself and Joel inside.

Joel took stock of Marian, her hands shaking on Haldir's chair with fury and hurt, and the reality of his true position finally began to dawn on him. In my opinion, it was about time.

"I'm sorry," he redeemed himself by saying to her. With a practiced doctor's bedside manner that was also completely sincere, he assured her that he had not understood the depth of her feelings for "the elf," and that he held no grudge against her. He would stand by her wishes to preserve Methentaurond as it was. "You have chosen a lonely life, Marian," he warned her. "I'll be here if you should change your mind. You have my promise." And with that, he walked past me without further comment and left the talan.

"No one will change Methentaurond as long as I breathe," Marian said to me with a rock-solid determination that never wavered from that moment on. Insofar as everything had already changed, I believed her.

We did not have long to wait to test the Fellowship's readiness for the changes that would come. It was only a few hours after our arrival that Roger ran stiffly into the Great Hall where we had gathered for a midday meal. He told us in a panic that he and Yasmin had heard people coming – a helicopter over the next hill, and many voices in the woods - and Yasmin had stayed hidden outside, to see who they might be, and if they would find us.

"What should we do?" Arianna cried out in alarm.

Before we could decide, a pounding on the entry doors echoed in the passage above. Marian and I ran up the steps to the entry hall. Instead of scattering as I suggested, the rest of the company followed us. Again, someone pounded heavily on the great mallorn doors.

"Should we let them in?" Roger worried, wringing his hands.

"You have to hide!" Marian told me. Hide? Really, it was just too insulting to consider.

The pounding on the doors intensified. The Fellowship stood frozen in indecision. Had Marian and I been followed? Surely not – I would have known.

All at once an explosion rocked the caverns, but it hadn't come from the entry doors – it had come from below the Great Hall.

"Stay here. And don't open the doors! Arianna, go outside by the back way near the Linluin and try to find Yasmin," Marian told the others, and she and I rushed into the Hall. Smoke and dust billowed up through the arch to the stairs going down into the lower passage. Covering our noses and mouths with our sleeves, we plunged down the stairs. Our eyes stinging from dust and a biting chemical smell, the debris and thicker smoke led us down the curved stairs to the barricaded chamber that held the palantir. Climbing over broken stones, the one remaining lantern in the hall that had not been shattered revealed the twisted remains of the iron doors which, in spite of Haldir's precautions, had been blown open by some powerful explosive. I took the lantern from its hook on the wall, and by its light we cautiously entered the chamber.

The Anor Stone was gone.

We heard the unwelcome sounds of shouting above, and running steps on the stairs. Again Marian insisted frantically that I hide, and looked around helplessly for something for me to retreat behind.

She should not worry, I told her calmly. I could, though it was not my personal style, disappear into the background in time of need.

She hissed at me that this was a time of need.

The voices grew closer, accompanied by the shuffling of heavy boots on loose rock, and more disturbingly, the sound of weapons being cocked.

"I believe I will reconsider your request," I told her under my breath, "although it is most unseemly. I will not, however, allow you to be harmed."

"Rumil, please!" she pleaded with me, and I reluctantly stepped behind the misshapen leaf of one of the iron doors. Marian held the back of the lantern against her chest so that its light shone only out into the passage.

"Who's there?" she called out bravely just as three uniformed men with gas masks and rifles broke into the chamber and surrounded her. One took the lantern from her hand. He and another searched the chamber with its aid. The last held Marian by the arm, which I seethed at. Yet I sensed that she was in no immediate danger from these strange intruders.

"It's already gone – what you're looking for," Marian said heatedly. They did not reply, but ordered her out of the chamber. I waited until they had passed, and followed them. I had suitably pony-tailed my hair over my ears and dimmed my appearance. I would have no trouble passing for a mortal if seen in this light. I would ensure Marian was not harmed, and observe how many more of them were in the caverns, and where. I had no intention of disarming them – not yet.

Marian was marched up the stairs and into the Great Hall, yet curiously the soldiers – for that is how they appeared – guided her gently and with a guarded respect, taking her arm as she climbed over the debris and referring to her as "ma'am".

Marian was taken to the rest of our Fellowship, who had been gathered together near the hearth by several other green-uniformed men. Our friends were arguing and complaining spiritedly. Only Arianna and Yasmin were missing.

The three men then removed their gas masks and saluted a man in a well-cut suit who stood with his back to the Fellowship, speaking intently to another whose stance and casual attire were familiar to me. This was a most curious development. Momentarily, the man acknowledged the salutes, gave an order that sent the three trotting out of the Hall and across the bridge over the Linluin, and turned to approach our group, his dress shoes clacking on the marble floor. As I was hidden just behind the arch near the fireplace I saw their faces at the same time that Marian did. There was the stranger in the suit, with short, graying hair and a stern face, and Mason.

Marian's eyes flew wide when she recognized Mason, and Joel stepped to her side, bristling immediately. Before the stranger could speak, Marian demanded to know if it was he who had blown up the chamber.

The man considered Marian for a moment, which gave me the chance to study him more thoroughly. He appeared both shrewd and composed. He was obviously a man who was accustomed to being in charge, yet he did not seem to be one who would abuse his authority. I decided that I did not completely dislike what I saw, and I was comforted somewhat in my concern for the Fellowship and my home.

No, the man replied, he had not caused the regrettable damage that had occurred. The man who had, however, and who had stolen the object from the room, was being pursued. He had taken a hostage outside the cavern: a petite young lady, he described, with a Germanic accent and medium-length brown hair.

"Arianna!" Marian said worriedly, and I wondered what had become of Yasmin, who had also been outside. "She and this man are in terrible danger," Marian said, and warned him that the object was treacherous and must not be looked into if they find it.

"I've explained about the Stone," Mason told Marian, and told her not to worry.

"Don't worry?" Marian said, aghast, and Joel asked Mason how he could have betrayed them like this; how had he found his way here, and who were these people who had herded them into the Hall like they were criminals?

"Mason isn't a traitor, Marian," another man's voice called, and a lanky, freckled man walked smiling into the Hall, a grinning Yasmin by his side. To my surprise Marian's whole demeanor relaxed and she gasped, running to the man and throwing her arms around him. "Matt!" she squealed. He hugged her back enthusiastically. I admit I became slightly jealous before remembering that this was Marian's childhood friend, the lawyer whom, against my advice, she had trusted to plead our anonymous cause to the world. Apparently we were anonymous no longer.

Matt introduced the stranger in the suit as the Secretary of the Interior. This seemed to be good news to the Fellowship, but as I was unfamiliar with the title, I would have to ask Marian about it later. At the moment, I used the distraction to slip myself around the arch and into the company of Roger, Sandy and Joel.

The uniformed men were National Guard, brought here by the Secretary to protect the Fellowship, not to harm them, he explained.

Still, Marian told the Secretary with grave concern, they were overrunning Methentaurond; perhaps damaging it without meaning to. What if they took things? They needed to understand what was here first, Marian warned him. They mustn't disturb anything else.

The Secretary gave her his word that this was not happening – they had strict orders to touch nothing.

"Then who stole the palantir?" I asked over Marian's shoulder, and one of the guards looked at me strangely, then decided that I must have been there the whole time. Marian twisted around in a fear for me that was truly touching, saw that I had donned my "ears", then rolled her eyes and shook her head at me in awe, I'm sure, of my cleverness. She was about to say something to me when two more guards entered the Hall supporting Arianna, who was in tears.

We ran to her aid and helped her to a seat by the fire, where she shivered and clasped her arms about her.

The guards saluted the Secretary again, reporting that the person who had taken the dark orb had escaped in the forest. The Secretary ordered them crisply to pursue the individual until he was caught.

In the meantime, Marian and I knelt by Arianna's side and listened to her tearful story.

"It was Dieter!" she cried in hurt and dismay. "He told me he was leaving with the palantir – that he would prove to everyone in the military that he was smarter and more powerful than they were. That's all he came back for," Arianna told us brokenly. I comforted her as best I could. "As soon as I wasn't any use to him anymore, he let me go," she said. "He said. . . he said there wasn't anything else valuable here," she cried, and I knew her meaning – that she had not been valuable to him either. He had deceived all of us, or perhaps he had not at first meant to, but his pride and hatred of the military had grown to be more important to him than Methentaurond, or us, or even, most sadly, Arianna.

Mason told us then that he had become suspicious of Dieter and followed him after he had let him go. He called Matt, he admitted, based on information he had gathered from one of Marian's notebooks he had found in the greenhouse and not returned. He had continued to follow Dieter's whereabouts until he started back here, Mason explained. Then they had simply followed him.

I believe that few mortals become truly evil. Most simply lose sight of what is true, blinded by their desires and fears, be it money, or power, or simply recognition. Mason had found his way back to the light; Dieter had lost his.

"Oh, and I took these," Mason said and handed Marian a packet of photographs.

Marian spread the photos out on the table – the pictures of Haldir and the others of my kin that Sandy had photographed. I saw that the pictures of me had been removed, and I gave Mason a look of thanks that he received with a small smile. The Fellowship gathered round the table with Arianna, Matt and the Secretary. Haldir looked out with lordly arrogance from the picture that Marian picked up and carefully held in her hand.

"So here is proof at last," the Secretary said. "This is most exciting."

"I'm surprised that you consider photographs to be proof, Mr. Secretary," Marian said absently, immersed in the memories that the photograph surely brought to her.

"Some things cannot be faked," the Secretary said, looking at the photo that she held. "This – elf – for one. His presence comes through the lens as if he is here in the room with us. He must have been a mighty leader."

"Yes, he is," Marian replied, and set the picture gently down on the table.

"And this place," the Secretary continued. "It's truly amazing. Besides," he said to her kindly, "I grew up in Scotland with fairies in my back yard. Why should elves not be real as well? But most of all," he indicated Mason, "I have been convinced by a most reliable source that elves do in fact do exist. Your friends are most persuasive, having, as they did, more proof than pictures."

"The lanterns," Mason said apologetically. "And a few other things."

"What happens now?" Marian wondered out loud. "Your guards are everywhere. We aren't ready for them yet. It's overwhelming," she said, and the rest of our Fellowship agreed nervously.

"Yes, the cat is out of the bag," the Secretary told her. "Our troops will be needed to protect this place and you, especially until the United Nations World Heritage Commission arrives and things calm down."

The Fellowship was stunned. Was Methentaurond being taken away from them before they could even start to take care of it?

"The U.N.?" Marian asked in grave concern. "The U.N. is corrupt, and they have no real power. How can you ask us to trust them? Even if they haven't any self-interest in us, and their intentions are pure, how can they protect Methentaurond? There must be another way, a different. . . group."

"There is no other," the Secretary said. "Perhaps some day there will be, but for now, this is our only option." He looked at Marian with an understanding that I found both surprising and encouraging. "I share your concerns, but be assured that the United States will never let Methentaurond be exploited. It's too important for all of our futures. The world needs what you all have found here, more desperately than most of us realize. I would go so far as to say that this could be our salvation, and salvation is hard to come by these days. We won't let such a vital resource be squandered. I give you my word." Then the Secretary gave Marian a look that was a curious mixture of humor and danger. "I have the right dirt on the right people. I've called in all of the favors I've ever been due. In fact, I've staked my entire career on this place, thanks to your rather forceful friends here."

"I have staked my life on it," Marian told him with a level stare, and pointed to the rest of the Fellowship. "We all have."

"Forgive us if we don't necessarily trust what you're saying," Joel started. "Politicians – bureaucrats – "

"Mr. Secretary," Marian continued, "your people don't know how Methentaurond functions. We understand intimately how to protect it, and how to teach others the wisdom it represents. We're the only people who've been taught by the. . . former residents. . .

"The elves," the Secretary nodded.

"With all due respect," Marian continued, "we won't give it up to just anyone who walks in the door. "

The Secretary holds his hand up for her to stop. "I understand. . ."

"No, I don't think you do," Marian insisted. "This is an extremely delicately balanced ecosystem, unlike any in the world. Plants that exist nowhere else, structures that are so organic they cross the boundaries between biology and non-living systems. It can give us the means to help us heal ourselves and Arda. . . I mean the Earth. . . "

"Which is why," Matt interrupted her, "The U.N. is putting you personally in charge. You will be the director of a World Heritage Site, Marian. You won't have to hand it over to just anyone," Matt interjected, and held out an official-looking piece of paper to her, which she took with shaking hands.

Marian held a U.N. resolution signed by every member country.

"The World Heritage Commission," the Secretary explained formally, "is dedicated to the identification, documentation and safeguarding of the cultural, artistic, and environmental heritage of humanity. Methentaurond will be studied and preserved as just such an irreplaceable treasure."

"I still don't understand," Marian persisted. "You aren't from the U.N., you're from the Interior Department."

"A World Heritage Site is a place, if you will, without its own administration," the Secretary said. "Therefore, for that purpose Congress and the President have designated Methentaurond as a National Park. I have named you the first Park Superintendent, with a few unique but important departures from the authority that this position traditionally holds," the Secretary proudly told Marian. "You have the authority to hire and keep your own staff, and to name your own successor. I presume," he said with a smile to the rest of us, "that many positions may already be filled. And you will have complete control over Park policy."

"What does that mean, really?" Marian asked cautiously.

"It means," Matt beamed at her, "that nothing will happen in Methentaurond that you don't want to, even if the Secretary here has second thoughts, or the next Secretary, or the next President."

The Secretary continued: "The world realizes that this is a unique situation, requiring unique solutions. Nothing will be done here without your express direction and approval."

"This is so much more than I'd dared to even hope for," Marian said, looking at me with hope in here eyes at last. "Methentaurond can truly be a sanctuary on our own terms then; it won't be run over by greedy people trying to get whatever they can out of it, then leaving it ruined behind them?"

"Not if you can keep that from happening," the Secretary cautioned.

"Watch us," Marian told him.

"I intend to, with great interest," he replied. "And to make sure you have the means to succeed, in addition to the full status of a National Park, you will have a U.N. contingency of Swiss Guards stationed here at all times, sworn to protect Methentaurond, courtesy of the Swiss government and ours."

"Like at the Vatican?" Sandy interjected, impressed. The Secretary told her yes, just like at the Vatican – except their uniforms wouldn't be quite as. . . colorful.

"This is amazing," Marian told him, blinking at us all in shock. Then she turned to me with cautious enthusiasm. "The Swiss keep their promises," she assured me. "They always have." Of course, having been around a lot longer than Marian, I knew from experience and not just history that this was true.

"It's going to be all right," Matt said, and hugged her. "It really is going to be all right."

"I believe we owe you all dinner," Marian recovered enough to say politely. "Please sit down, and let's talk more over a glass of miruvor, to start with."

"Miruvor?" Matt asked curiously.

"A most delicious cordial," I said, guiding our guests to their seats. "It's effects can be quite entertaining if one overindulges," I warned them, giving Marian a private look that made her blush.

"Indeed?" the Secretary said with interest.

"Oh yes, just ask Marian."

"Jason!" Marian scolded me by my "mortal" name, and retreated into the kitchen.

Endings are never quite how you think they will be.

Marian lived a long life for a mortal in this day and age – until she was 93. Still, it was very difficult for me to let my dear friend go. Frail but tenacious to the end, somehow she managed to get to Haldir's talan by herself. I would have helped her if she had asked. I think, though, that she simply wanted some time alone in his rooms to say another, last goodbye to him.

That is where I found her, lying in his bed and holding the photograph of Haldir that she was never without. She had dreamed of him again, finally, she said with a melancholy smile. Why would this be after so long, she wondered? I had no answers for her. I don't think she expected me to.

Though I knew she was on the very cusp of leaving me, by some Grace we spoke until there was little else left to say. She told me she still had faith that mankind would not squander the gifts the elves had entrusted to them. Adam, Roger's grandson, would see to it. He was in charge now. She told me that I was to go home. Haldir would be missing me - she had already kept me from him for too long. I was to go home immediately, she repeated with a stern eye that told me she knew I wouldn't - not right away. Time would tell how the healing of Arda would unfold; I wanted to be here to see it.

What shall I tell him for you? I asked her, hopefully changing the subject.

"Tell him that I. . . did my best," she replied doubtfully.

"I will tell him that you were worthy of his trust, and that you did very well indeed," I corrected her. "Anything else?"

"No," she said, knowing exactly what I meant, "he already knows." Still, I will tell Haldir that Marian kept her vow to him – she never loved another after.

Marian closed her eyes tiredly. I thought she might be going, and I shook her gently in protest. Her eyes fluttered open, and she laughed weakly. "You are a pain in the ass, Rumil," she teased. "And you're much too young for me - people think I'm terribly wicked," she winked. Then she tried to make me take the ring that was on her finger – my grandmother's ring. I don't know if she couldn't get it off because she was so weak, or if it simply did not wish to leave her finger. I chose to believe the latter, and I refused to take it. She rolled her eyes at my stubbornness. What good would it do me stuck six feet under the ground? She argued, but I told her that it was a gift. She was family, and I would not take it back.

Then she became unduly serious. "I love you, you know."

"Of course you do, I am irresistible," I teased back, but she could no longer hear me.

I took her wrinkled hand and kissed it. I think the ring sparkled – but I could not tell from the hot tears that fell from my eyes. Still, none can foresee where love will take us, or what journeys Marian may yet embark upon. Not even the wisest know where mortals go after their all too brief lives have ended.

You know the rest of your story, but not mine.

I have stayed longer than I had intended, and far longer than Marian would have wished of me. Methentaurond is deserted now except for a few caretakers. Our Fellowship, and the Fellowships that followed, succeeded such that it is no longer needed. I have returned, one hundred and forty-four years to the day after Haldir sailed for Valinor, only to leave this book and say goodbye to my Marian. I miss her company dearly. I have no one left to tease and fight with, not the way that we did.

She lies in the caverns under Haldir's mallorn, with simbelmynë2 ever-blooming on her grave. I know not from whence the simbelmynë came, for they have been long unseen in Arda. Still, I've brought some of Haldir's white flowers from his garden for her as well, because I know that he would have wanted to do it himself if he was here.

Yes, what each of us loves, and how we choose to show our love affects us all. For Marian, the love of my brother, her duty, Methentaurond and what it could do for Men, became not different loves that divided her affections and her loyalty, but the same, great love. She poured all of her grief and love for Haldir into protecting and nurturing Methentaurond and all of the Fellowship like a lioness protecting her cubs. She was unstoppable. The elves gave her the tools, and she found the moral courage to do right by Arda and her kin. She did not just try, she achieved results – that is what Haldir had expected of her, and that is what she did. She would have been so happy to see what has come to pass. She would have known without a doubt that Haldir would have been proud of her.

Soon I will tell Haldir and Orophin all about it: The mortals finally remember that in wielding their power to shape their world, they also have the power to shape their own well-being. The air is sweet and clean. Buildings live and breathe and repair themselves, mimicking the kelvar and olvar1 in the most imaginative yet deceptively simple ways. Men are ever inventing new tools to help them invent other new and curious things - but now wiser things that do not sicken the earth. Their drive and creativity never cease to be a source of amusement and surprise to me. Now that Arda is truly healing, many types of cancer no longer occur; those that do can be cured by medicines the mortals have created from some of the very plants we ate daily in Methentaurond. Other, newer diseases that damage Men, however, have appeared. Sadly, this is ever the way of Arda for Men, it seems, and like their mortality, is simply what IS.

These and other things I will tell them. With such news I hope to sooth Haldir's mind if not his heart, for I am sure that his love for both Arda and Marian has not waned with absence or time. Of course we will also have guests gather in our home nightly to hear Rumil's Tales of Arda, of which I have composed several already. Surely I will receive numerous invitations to dinner - perhaps even at the houses of Elrond or Celeborn or - well, really, the opportunities are boundless. I should be the source of entertaining tales around a roaring fire for years to come. It is thus that I eagerly look forward to gaining the attention and favor of as many lovely ellith as possible. Perhaps on occasion I will ask Lindir to join me - he is a master storyteller, quite polite, and safely bound to another.

I am going. But first I must take this final opportunity to correct a few misunderstandings.

First, the palantir is not a secret weapon designed to destroy the race of Men by elves seeking revenge for Arda being taken away from them. Those ridiculed for propounding that it is a device of the Devil are in fact closer to the truth of what it became, in the end, than anyone knew. First Dieter, and then the scientists who studied it were slowly driven insane, had strange fatal accidents or family tragedies, until the government finally decided that it must be destroyed. But did they in fact destroy it? I don't know. No one has heard of its whereabouts for a century, and it has passed into myth.

Aliens did not land and take off from the coast of California in the Spring of the year when my kin departed, nor was a secret military experiment conducted on these shores. The West Coast was not attacked by China or Korea, nor did the Son of God arrive in Arda a second time, by ship.

There. The tale is ended. I am ready now to return to Valinor and reunite with my brothers. I did not build or buy my own ship, but I noticed quite a handsome one in Sausalito Harbor that should do nicely. I have a fancy to test Haldir's theory about borrowed ships not being welcome into the West. After all, Haldir is not always right.

So now I will see myself off. This tale will be your only memory of me, except perhaps in myths shared round a fire, or in another's book, or in that nether-world of your computers and gadgets. The sunlight is yours, Children of Iluvatar: May it always fall soft and warm on your path. As for me, may Manwë set fair wind to my sails, and the stars guide me home.

1 Olvar and kelvar: Plants and animals.

2 Simbelmynë: Evermind, the flower that ever grew on the burial mounds of the Kings of Men.


	39. Ch 39: Epilogue

Title: The Tale of Marian

Chapter: 39/39

Rating: PG13 this chapter.

Pairing: OFC/Haldir

Genre: Adventure/Romance/perhaps a little Angst

Timeline: AU, modern times.

Beta: None this chapter.

Feedback: Welcomed. Constructive criticism always appreciated.

Warnings: Some angst; happiness could occur as well.

Author's Notes: This is a work in progress.

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1 for disclaimer.

THE TALE OF MARIAN

Chapter 39 – Epilogue

The debate was nearing the evening of its third day. The cool shadows of the massive yet delicately proportioned white marble columns around the Ring of Doom had grown longer and longer as Anar, even in the seeming timelessness of Aman, marked the inexorable passage of the day. Here, high on Oiolossë, the highest tower of the high white peak Taniquetil, the white gossamer clouds suspended around the mountain top were turning orange across the celadon- and lavender-tinted sky. The Vala Ulmo sighed. He came rarely to the councils of the Valar unless great matters were in deliberation. He had joined them only at Manwë's request, for it was he who had heard the whispers through the waters of the need of the mortal Child of the Earth, even before Mandos had received her fëa1 into the Halls of Waiting; indeed, even before Nienna had come to plead for the easing of grief of the immortal Child of Aman. Ulmo sighed again, quietly, and then smiled an apology to Varda when she turned her starry gaze his way. The Earth, he thought longingly – at least the seas that he had planned to be upon this day – would be nearing sunrise at this very moment, the slick backs of dolphins glinting in the new light of morning, and he had thought to be with them. Yet the council was no closer to a decision.

"It is forbidden for a mortal to enter Valinor, with hrondo2 or without," Yavanna repeated.

"I summoned her and her spirit came swiftly and gladly. Yet she waits neither in the Halls of the First Born nor in the Halls of the Second, but in some realm between that I knew not even existed in my own House," Mandos voiced their dilemma once more. "She is most persistent and impatient. She insists, but with the utmost deference, that she be allowed to dwell in Valinor; that by the side of the Child of Aman who alone of all elves in this Blessed Realm lives in sorrow, is where she belongs."

"Let us not so easily forget the arrogance of the Numenoreans," argued Oromë. "Though their doom was decreed by Ilúvatar to rise outside the confines of this World, they, too, forsook that gift and claimed they deserved immortality, claiming that their feet should walk upon the white sands of these forbidden shores. For this they set sail against us and were vanquished. How therefore does this mortal fëa claim the same fate of us that we denied her ancestors, influenced as they were by the poisonous whisperings of Morgoth?"

"She does not claim it, she asks it," Ulmo declared. "And let us not either forget that she is descended of the Faithful among the Numenoreans who fled to Middle Earth with the seven stars; not of those who took up arms against us. Neither does she ask it for her own immortality only, but for the sake of that Child of Aman for whom Nienna weeps, whose grief washes over the seas of Aman like a thunderstorm of Manwë unassuaged," he nodded his deference to the Vala at the head of the council.

"This woman," Nienna spoke, "is and is not a woman only. Though weakened through the Ages that have passed, still the line of Arwen has not failed. It survives in this woman's fëa, and in her children's. This was foretold long ago, was it not? The blood of the Eldar did run in her veins, and dwells still in her spirit."

"It is the first child only of Elf and Man who may choose their fate, and before their hrondo is forsaken," Yavanna stated. "Yet I pity her –she showed herself in life to be a friend of the forests, after my own heart. I do not wish to abandon her to an uncertain fate."

"Was she not welcomed into the family of this elf by elves themselves while her hrondo still served her, and does her hrondo not still bear the token of this welcome, the ring that was given?" Nienna pleaded. "And was she not a champion of the healing of Arda among Men? Shall these things be dismissed as of no consequence?"

"Aulë, what say you?" Manwë asked the Vala who had remained silent through most of the lengthy proceedings, and who asked for the counsel of others freely but spoke his own only when asked.

"This wavering between the Halls of Mandos. . . he began slowly.

"Not wavering, my friend, but a continued presence there by the sheer will of her fëa," Mandos corrected, chuckling at the persistence of this most unusual spirit.

"This presence," Aulë shifted in his chair and considered, "is a thing new and unthought-of. We here have no knowledge, and thus no power with which to determine her fate."

"The fate of mortals may be uncertain to us by design," Manwë agreed, and stood. "Yet to Ilúvatar is all of our Music and all things outside of our Realm known and considered. This is indeed a new thing, and in this matter the power of doom is not given to me. Only by the design of Ilúvatar himself can the decision be made. I shall go therefore, and ask Him."

The debate was over. The Valar rose as one and bowed their awed assent deeply to Manwë, for it was seldom in their infinite memories that such supplication had been made by Manwë directly to the Father of All.

Anar had passed on into the East, and Varda's stars shone bright and close in the oceans of the heavens. This night had fallen gently again on Valinor, and all its creatures were at rest, save but perhaps one who found that rest eluded him yet once more. Nienna shed another tear for him, and wondered what little comfort the next day might bring for him, if any.

Haldir was not overly fond of the Sea. He treasured it insomuch as any elf must who had been called to return upon it to Valinor, but it did not complete him, did not fascinate him as it did Cirdan or his shipwrights and sailors. Yet, he had chosen to become a sea captain, nonetheless.

It was true – there were no mellyrn trees in Aman. There were other, even more majestic and beautiful trees, and forests aplenty. He felt most at home in the trees, of course, and it was the forests he was drawn to. But within them he could no longer find peace. All it took was to stand under a canopy with the sunlight dappling the ground beneath, a brief stroll in the quietude of a simple wood, or the mere memory of Tar-caranorn, and the image of Marian would assault him like an arrow through his lung. No, it was impossible to shut away his longing for her in a distant corner of this mind when trees, or even thoughts of trees, were near. Only the rigors of the Sea, in those moments or hours when complete concentration kept his ship and crew from the dangers that the oceans presented with surprising frequency, could push Marian from his mind, at least for a little while.

So he had accepted Cirdan's offer to explore the vast seas around Aman. Such adventures kept him safely away from shore for months at a time, to the displeasure of his brother Orophin and his friends. Even, it kept him from his goddaughter Annawen. Still, on a calm sea, when he least expected it, he found himself musing about the sweet child, and actually smiling. Of late she had begun to twine herself around his heart and mind almost as much as Marian's memory. This he could not allow.

She had been his salvation, bringing him back from the depths of despair so deep that he had barely survived it. He had been aroused from his constant broodings by nothing else that Aman had to offer, and delighted in her presence almost from the moment that his friend had placed the babe in his arms and invited him to become her godfather. He almost suspected that this was why her parents had named him as such. 'Uncle Haldir,' he had been ever since to the brown-eyed, brown-haired wiggling bundle whose hand had emerged from its blankets to grab his finger with surprising strength, and whose eyes had fixed on him and held him in their gaze so powerfully that he was roused from an unexpected reverie only by her mother's shake on his arm and her complaint to him and her husband that she be allowed to hold her own child, at least for a few minutes.

Annawen grew to crawl and then walk, all the while wriggling herself deeper and deeper into Haldir's frozen heart, thawing it until he completely melted with godfatherly love for his friends' child. He would do anything for her. She was the only thing in Aman that made him happy, and he visited whenever his ship was in the harbor, bringing her shells and pearls and other welcomed bounty from the sea. She accepted his gifts, his games and his love with an innocent delight that, if he had been vain, he would have thought was more for him than for the surprises that he hid within his cloak and challenged Annawen to find. He walked on air when he visited, and he was saddened when he had to walk back down the meadow path toward the shore and his waiting ship, while cries of "Don't go, Uncle Haldir, don't go!" followed him. The emptiness would return, and the memories.

Yet Haldir's close relationship to his goddaughter was not without its hazards. To Haldir's dismay, during one such visit after Annawen had turned sixteen Haldir noticed, as perhaps he had not allowed himself to do before, that Annawen looked a little less like her father than before, and a little more like he would have imagined Marian would have appeared as a child. In fact, as Annawen grew the similarities became more pronounced in Haldir's eyes. He supposed that he was punishing himself by imagining such things. Still, even with all of his self-discipline, she would make a little movement, or laugh a certain way, and it would remind him in a flash of some thing that Marian had done, those untouchable years ago. Yes, it had been almost half an ennin11 since he had deserted Marian. She was surely dead by now. He would never forget the look of abandonment on her face there on the rock below the cypresses, or her whispered words that she loved him. He had walked away from her. How he could face himself each morning was a mystery even he could not fathom. It seemed that the Valar had chosen not to grant him the grace of fading.

Annawen was confused. Because she had been confused most of her short life, the feeling was not unusual. It was, however, almost unbearably frustrating. She was sixteen, after all. Most of her friends had already decided upon their chosen names. They hadn't told her what their names were, of course – that was for family. But they had told her they had made up their minds, and some of them had only been nine at the time. Her parents wouldn't tell her how old they had been when they had chosen their names, but she could tell by the way they looked at each other when she asked that they hadn't waited as long as she. They would only say that the right one would come to her when she was ready. The measurement that she compared herself to, though, was her uncle, who she admired and loved completely. She had learned it was not wise to compare oneself to others, but she could not help it. Uncle Haldir had chosen his name when he was ten.

Now how had she known that? He hadn't told her. Somewhere fluttering in the back of her mind, though, she knew it to be true: she had known, somehow, what Uncle's chosen name was. But try as she might, she couldn't remember. Such thoughts sprang into her mind quite often, and almost always these thoughts centered on her uncle. Sometimes, though, they were about her mother, or another elf that she couldn't quite envision. They were the source of Annawen's confusion, and probably shouldn't be discussed aloud.

As a small child she had not been so careful about it. And why should she have? How was she to know that the innocent observations she made to her parents would make her mother look at her in concern, or make uncle Haldir upset? Of course uncle Haldir never told her he was upset. He tried very hard not to show it, but she could tell.

Like that evening at home after dinner. She had been five, and the stars outside the house had been so beautiful. She had pulled uncle Haldir's hand until he had come outside with her to look. "That one!" she had pointed out to him in excitement. "It's your favorite one: Orion. He is guarding Aman from the sky, with his sword in his belt. Is he not magnificent?" Magnificent was her favorite new word. In fact, she thought, Uncle Haldir looked even taller and more magnificent than the bright group of stars she was pointing at.

She had waited expectantly, hoping she would make him smile. Instead, his face grew deeply sad, for just a moment. Then, with some effort she thought, he smiled at her and asked her, "Menelmacar is called Orion only by the mortals in Arda, Annawen. How did you know that name? Did your mother tell you?"

She stopped and thought. Would her answer make uncle even more upset? She thought of saying yes, nana5 had told her, but she was not a liar, and she would never lie to her uncle. How did she know what the other name was? She had never been far across the sea to the Outer Lands of Earth that nana spoke of sometimes. "No," she admitted hesitantly. "I know not how I know, I just know. Maybe you told me, when I was little."

"Well you are right, Annawen, it is my favorite," Uncle Haldir said with no trace of the sadness she thought she had seen a moment before, but a small quirk at the corner of his mouth. "Thank you for showing me. Now, can you find some of the others your ada has been teaching you about?"

She loved her nana and her ada6 very much, adored them in fact. Yet she knew without wondering why that she loved uncle Haldir even more. It hurt inside to see him sad, and he seemed to be sad a lot, though he tried very hard not to look that way. So, at the age of six, she resolutely decided that there was nothing more important in her life than making uncle Haldir happy.

She had tried to make him happy by bringing him the white flowers, but that had gone wrong too. When Annawen was nine, uncle Haldir's brother Orophin brought her mother some new flower bulbs for her garden. People were always saying what a lovely flower garden her nana had made, and they would often bring her unusual or rare plants to add to her collection. Nana would weave them into her garden so perfectly that people would "oooo" and "ahhh" in appreciation. Annawen treasured the flowers, too. She had made a ritual, with nana's permission, of sneaking in to Haldir's guest room and placing a generous vase of fragrant blooms on the windowsill before he arrived. No one else but nana knew she did this, every time. It was their secret.

Uncle Haldir liked flowers, too. She had visited his home with ada and nana a few times. His garden was as wonderful as nana's. It was even bigger than his small but well-built and tidy house. She supposed Uncle didn't need a big house – he was on his ship more often than he was at home, and when he was at home he always, always visited them. Annawen thought, though, that he never visited often enough, or stayed long enough when he did. She was always disappointed – panicked, even – to see him go away again. But, she comforted herself, he always promised her that he would come back, and Uncle Haldir kept his promises. And so she waited, counting every day until his ship would come into port again.

While she waited for him to return, she waited patiently for the buds to spring up on the bulbs that Orophin had given them. Would they bloom in time for uncle Haldir's visit? Orophin had told her that they were rare and beautiful, and only bloomed for a few days. She would have to watch for them, Orophin told her, to make sure she didn't miss them. So she watched every day, there in the garden, and crossed her fingers. And one morning in early Spring, near the time when uncle Haldir said he would visit again, her vigilance was rewarded. She had woken up early that sunny morning and run down into the garden to check the swelling buds, and there they were! How beautiful and fragrant the glowing white blooms were, fluttering light iridescent blue and violet in the gentle breeze. She was about to run and tell nana to come look, when she had by some instinct turned and looked down the sloping path toward the sea. Her heart leaped: uncle Haldir was walking up the path! She could just see him on a hill in the distance, silhouetted by the glittering sea and the sky beyond. She resisted the urge to immediately run to him. She had a better idea. Quickly she cut some of the precious blooms – just a few so that nana would not scold her – and ran to the guest room, adding them to the bouquet that she had started the evening before. Without thinking why, she knew that he would treasure them as she did. Then she ran through the kitchen and out the door, calling back to her startled ada that uncle Haldir was coming. Annawen pelted down the path through the yard and down the grassy slopes, running, running and calling, until at last she threw herself into her uncle's arms. He met her with open arms, scooping her up and twirling her high in the air. Her spirit sailed as high as her uncle lifted her, for he gifted her with a rare laugh, and a broad smile.

Later that evening, however, when she was sent to his room to call him for dinner, she had surprised him bending over the white flowers she had put there and cradling them in his hands, smelling their fragrance. Such an immensely sad expression was on his face that Annawen gasped. He looked up, and the expression was gone, replaced by the proud bearing and unreadable look that he wore more than not. But Annawen could have sworn she had seen a tear in his eye a short moment ago. Her heart sank. Somehow, she kept saying things or doing things that made him sad again, or look funny at her, no matter how hard she tried to make him happy. She tried not to say anything at all the rest of the evening, for fear she would say something wrong.

Allinde looked at her husband laughing with Elrohir and Master Elrond and told herself again that she was the luckiest elf in Valinor. For one thing, she was alive; that had been no small miracle. Lord Haldir, with Lomion at his aid, had brought her palfrey to the House of Elrond immediately upon their ship's arrival. The house's master had needed all of the skills he possessed to bring her back from the brink of fading. Of course, she remembered with a smile, Elrond's ministrations had not been her only medicine. There had also been his sons, Elladan and Elrohir. It had been the elegant dark-haired and gray-eyed Elladan, though, that had read to her and talked to her, first catching her eye and then capturing her heart.

She was happy – deliriously so. It was here in Elrond's study, with its tall windows overlooking the Bay of Eldamar from its grapevine-covered hillside just above the city of Tirion, that they had shared their love of books, and learning, and mysteries. It may even have been here in this very room, she thought with a private smile, where their daughter Annawen had been conceived.

Allinde mused that Annawen might very well be an even greater mystery than the palantiri had been. It had been little things at first. Allinde, Elladan, Elrohir, and certainly Master Elrond, had filled her head with knowledge and the thirst for knowledge since she had been a tiny thing. Lord Haldir taught her also, as often as he could. Someone had once wisely said that knowledge was not the filling of a cup, but the lighting of a fire. There was no lack of fire in Annawen. It wasn't just that she absorbed everything that was taught her and asked for more. It was that she knew things, sometimes, that no one seemed to have taught her at all; some things, even, that no one in Aman could have taught her. Elladan thought that when Annawen was a small child she must have overhead him and Allinde speak of Arda as they occasionally did to each other, or to Haldir or their other friends. As such incidents continued, however, both Elladan and Allinde realized that such conversations did not explain every odd reference that Annawen made to such things. They began to wonder, just between themselves, if Annawen might be one of the reborn. If so, they felt blessed by the Valar to be chosen as parents to an elf who had tragically died and now had been granted another life. Of course, they could be wrong – they had no experience with such things. That is why neither of them had as yet discussed the possibility with Annawen. But if they were right, the question that mystified them both was: Who was she?

"Annawen has been down by your workshop all morning," Allinde commented as Elladan came back into the kitchen for lunch without his daughter. "What is so absorbing her attention that she does not even want to stop to eat?" Allinde would have checked herself, but they were leaving later for an evening at Master Elrond's house, and she had work she wanted to finish in her library before they departed. Master Elrond had requested to borrow some of her more esoteric volumes, and for some reason she was having trouble locating one of them.

"Splitting shingles," Elladan answered, helping his wife slice the cheese she had placed on the table.

"Again? What happened to the stack of them that she spent all day splitting yesterday?"

"I do not know," Elladan answered. "They seem to have disappeared."

Allinde set the plateful of apples down and gave her husband a look he had seen many, many times. It was a look that meant that his wife was trying to put together the pieces again – the pieces that made up the puzzle of their daughter's behavior.

"It was very sweet of you to teach her how," Allinde prodded. It was a subtle prod, Elladan thought with amusement – his wife was very good at it, but he had learned to recognize it when it was happening.

"Actually, it was she who was teaching me."

"Elladan, she is only twenty-five. How could she have learned to do such a thing, without anyone showing her how?"

"Mayhap she read about it in one of your books," Elladan suggested, intending to shift Allinde's attention back to the library.

"I am sure we do not have any books about splitting wood shingles in this house," she answered confidently. "Your father's library is much broader, however." She shook her head and dismissed the possibility as insignificant. Elladan was missing the point. "Have you discovered any broken shingles on the house, or the workshop, or the stables since you checked yesterday?" she asked him sweetly.

"Not a one," Elladan replied without concern, and casually studied the surface of the golden apple in his hand. Allinde sat down and stared at him unblinking across the table. He put the apple down on his plate, and stared back at her.

"No," he said.

"But Elladan, this could be important."

"All children need their little secrets, my love," Elladan comforted his exceedingly curious wife. He was as curious as she, but he was more willing to wait for the opportunities that life presented to satisfy his curiosity. Allinde, he thought with a smile, had more of a compulsion to make opportunities happen – such as their dinner at his father's house this evening. Some elves might call that meddling, but he had never seen her do anyone any harm and the results were usually quite successful. Still, Annawen could use a little privacy, especially at her age. "She will tell us about it, in time.

Besides," he said with an appraising glance at his wife, "it is a beautiful day. She could be occupying herself out there all afternoon. How hungry are you?"

Allinde, finding that her heart was starting to race as it did whenever her raven-haired husband evaluated her in such a fashion, set the piece of cheese that she had been about to eat back down on her plate. "I find that I have completely lost my appetite. . . for food," she told him from under her lashes. With a swift kick of her chair, she ran giggling from the room, her robes and long golden hair flying after her.

Elladan took a bite of his apple and slowly slid back his chair. He was in no hurry. He would find her, and make her forget all about her fascination with books, and roofing shingles. Yes, he would make sure of that, he decided happily, licking the sweet apple juice from his lips.

Elladan smiled back at Allinde over his brother's shoulder, and Allinde blushed at the memory of their activities earlier in the day. She'd barely had time to find the book that Master Elrond had asked for and convince Annawen to put something on besides a shirt and leggings for their visit. She was glad that her husband had agreed to consult Master Elrond about the possibility that Annawen might be one of the reborn. Allinde was concerned about her daughter – she had stopped talking to her about just the things that Allinde wanted to know most about. It was fortuitous that Haldir would be there in the morning, too.

Allinde was not just Annawen's mother; she was her best friend and confidant. She knew that Annawen loved Haldir dearly, and that her daughter had become more and more troubled about upsetting him with the rather unusual things that she occasionally did or said. Invariably these things involved something from Arda. She knew this because her daughter told her about these occasions, and asked her for advice. Then, as Annawen grew older, she stopped talking to Allinde about such things. She even became shy around Haldir, and this worried Allinde. Of all the elves that Allinde knew in Valinor – and being the keeper of Master Elrond's extensive and renowned library, she knew many – Haldir was the only grieving one. Oh, he put on an outward attitude of serene haughtiness, but Allinde knew him too well to be fooled. She knew why Haldir grieved. She had tried again and again for him to open up to her so she could comfort him, but nothing and no one could penetrate the solid fortress that he had constructed around his broken heart. Except Annawen. And now Annawen had begun to withdraw from him too. Allinde was convinced that the things Annawen was afraid would upset Haldir had not gone away, but that Annawen had simply taught herself to bury them inside. This was not good for Annawen or for Haldir. That was Allinde's opinion, and she had told Elladan so.

The dreams had begun when Annawen was twenty. They were always small snippets of places or people that were strangely familiar but that Annawen knew in waking she had never seen: the broad wooden gates of a grand entry; the curved, translucent stone wall of a large gathering hall; a tall forest of red-barked trees that Annawen loved to walk in. There was a library where her nana and she sat in large, comfortable chairs in front of a glowing fire. Of course nana was always in a library, so that wasn't strange to dream about. Oddly, uncle Haldir was always in her dreams. As in her recent waking life, whether her uncle was present or not, Annawen had begun to regard him in a womanly, rather un-goddaughterly way, and always worried about whether she was making him happy and proud of her. What was most odd, however, was that in these dreams she was sometimes addressed as Marian. She had heard her nana and ada talk on rare occasions about one of nana's friends in Arda who was named Marian. She had been a mortal. Annawen had asked them both what it was like to befriend someone who they knew was going to die. Ada had told her that elves learned to love the things or people they might lose. Like a bird, or a dog? She had asked then, and nana had looked at her sharply and then pretended she hadn't. With a jolt, Annawen remembered that there were no dogs in Aman. When she thought about it, she realized something even stranger, which was that she did not actually know what a dog was, except that she had been calling to one in her latest dream.

Annawen quickly realized that talking about her dreams, especially when she knew something that she shouldn't and couldn't have known, was not an advisable thing to do. So she had stopped telling even her mother about it when it happened; had tried, even, to shut it out of her own mind. Yet these unfamiliar things invaded her dreams nonetheless, and as the next few years went by, she began to wonder: Had she been reborn from the Halls of Mandos? She had heard a little bit about elves that had been; mostly third-hand stories from her friends. It was unfortunate that she didn't know any of them personally, so she had no one, really, to ask about it. So she kept it to herself, and began to feel more and more alone. She wondered if she really had known uncle Haldir quite well before, and if she had done something to hurt him. She hardly knew what to say to her uncle anymore, and became awkward and silent whenever he visited. This shamed her more than anything, but what else could she do? One day, she thought, it would all become just too much to bear and she would simply explode. On that day, she feared, she might drive uncle Haldir away from her altogether. That, she could never bear, because she thought that she might be falling in love with him.

She liked the name Marian, though. It fit her, somehow, and she thought she would like it to be her Chosen Name. It was just that she was afraid to tell anyone about it.

Annawen tried not to stare at the strikingly beautiful and regal-looking elleth7 seated at Master Elrond's right at the dinner table, but she couldn't help it. Neither could she escape the image that had first jumped into her head when grandfather had introduced her. She had almost blurted it out, but had caught herself just in time not to say: "You are the Lady on the Doors!" Tongue-tied and trying to recall just what doors she was thinking about, she was searching for something safely polite to say when she found herself under the most incredible scrutiny she had ever experienced. She had looked the Lady directly in the eye, and she seemed to be held there. Time had seemed to cease to exist. Her very soul felt as though it was laid bare before this elleth, who grandfather had introduced as one of the Noldor: She had been born in Aman itself, governed a realm of her own in Arda and aided the defeat of the dark lord. She had led the victorious return of what had then been thought to be the last of the elves to come home into the West. The last, at least, until her Uncle Haldir and her nana had returned nearly two ages after.

Annawen had the uncanny feeling that the noble lady before her was reading her every thought; even, perhaps, her much-hidden thoughts that she might love uncle Haldir in a very different way than that of a goddaughter to a godfather. Instead of feeling intruded upon, Annawen felt relief, as though a heavy burden had been lifted from her young shoulders. Though the Lady Galadriel had not spoken, when she had released Annawen from her gaze and greeted her aloud, Annawen felt strangely comforted and understood.

Annawen was completely in awe of the Lady Galadriel. To think that she was the great-granddaughter of this incredible elleth! It was even more surprising to learn that uncle Haldir had been marchwarden of the very realm she had governed. Haldir had never mentioned this, and Annawen listened with rapt attention when songs and tales of the Third Age of Middle Earth were shared around the roaring fire after dinner. Later, as the Lady said her goodbyes, she nodded slowly to grandfather and took Annawen by the hand, strolling with her to grandfather's gate. "Do not fear to be who you are, child" the Lady told her in a low voice that was meant for Annawen alone, "for to do so would be to live only as a shadow of regret."

After the other guests had left and the family was preparing to retire, the Lady's word had given her the courage to ask her ada if they could stay with grandfather through dinner the next day as well, whereas they had planned to leave before midday. When ada had asked her why, she had straightened her shoulders and told him that she had decided upon her Chosen Name, and wished to share it with them at dinner the next day. Of course, her ada had instantly rejoiced, and shared an unguarded look with nana that clearly said "Finally!"

Annawen could not sleep that night. Things were so much easier when she stayed in the background. Why, oh why, had she done it? She knew why: The Lady Galadriel had been right – Annawen did feel like she was living in her own shadow. She was weary of worrying about everyone's feelings but her own – she hadn't realized how deeply weary until her great-grandmother had spoken. Besides, ada had told nana, uncle Haldir, uncle Elrohir and grandfather as soon as the words were out of her mouth. It was too late now.

The morning mist was rising from Elrond's vineyards. The rows of grapes on the shoulders of the gently rolling hillocks stood in bright shadowless sunshine. The dewy air, white with moisture, lingered in the hollows between. Haldir found Elladan and Elrohir on a sunny bench in the midst of the vineyard and sat with them to watch Annawen and Elrond a few rows away. Her grandfather was testing Annawen's progress in determining each vine's readiness for harvest. In Elrond's vineyards, as Haldir knew, an entire section was not harvested at one time. Each vine was checked individually, and only those grapes that were at exactly the right sweetness were picked and delivered to the crushers – even if that happened to be in the middle of the night. Instead of a few days, the harvest could last upwards of two weeks and involve a host of pickers, but such meticulous effort was well rewarded. Elrond's wines were prized throughout Aman. The results of each year's vintage were awaited with rapt anticipation by all, and the serving of a precious bottle was an honor for a guest at a host's table. It appeared that Annawen was showing some skill in the care of the vines, and a keen interest in winemaking. Elladan was considering starting a small vineyard in their own garden.

Haldir followed Annawen's movements as she and Elrond walked around the last of the rows between them and the bench he and the twin brothers waited upon. Annawen stood with her backs to the seated ellyn while Elrond waited for her to choose a vine. Haldir silently observed that the view from behind was quite as lovely as the view from the front. Annawen paused to choose a grape. She turned toward the bench, but Elrond shot Haldir and his sons a sharp look that warned them of dire consequences should they dare to coach her. Haldir watched Annawen as she raised the grape to her rosy lips and popped it inside her mouth. A most ungodfatherly stirring struck him and he wondered: When had this vision before him become a most appealing elleth, and not a child?

Elrohir laughed as Annawen's face twisted into an unladylike grimace and she spit the unsuitable grape onto the ground. She reached up for another, and let out an exclamation of pain. Both Elladan and Haldir flinched at the same time, as if their own fingers had been caught on the offending wire instead of Annawen's. Annawen moved on to the next heavy cluster of grapes, sucking her finger and apparently unconcerned. Elladan and Haldir relaxed.

"Grandfather, why not grow Zinfandel instead of these," Annawen suggested. "Zinfandel vines do not wish to rest on wires."

"The variety you prefer," Elrond patiently explained to her, "does not appreciate the cool ocean fog that blankets the hills about Tirion in the mornings and evenings. These, however, savor the moist air that drifts in and out from the sea."

"Just as we savor relaxing times such as these with our friend Haldir, who likewise drifts in and out from the sea," observed Elrohir.

A pair of gulls swept noisily overhead, as though to emphasize her grandfather's words.

Annawen sighed her good-natured disappointment. She would just have to grow her favorite grapes somewhere else, then. She tucked the offending strand safely into the thin wire rope, and gracefully moved on.

Every rose had at least one thorn, Haldir thought to himself, but he could see no thorns at all in Annawen, no errant strands escaping a well-woven rope. She was beautiful, with long, dark hair that had at first been nearly as black as her fathers but now glinted rich and brown in the brilliant mid-morning sun. Her eyes were as loamy as a forest floor, with hints of green that might appear in a certain light and made Haldir want to loose himself looking for them. She was keenly intelligent. Her quiet demeanor hid a core that was strong-minded and stubbornly persistent. Haldir saw this as a positive strength rather than a fault. The only thing that disturbed him about Annawen was that she reminded him increasingly of Marian. Marian had possessed the same brown eyes, the same underlying strength of will. Annawen had a way of suddenly jolting him back into memories that were precious and yet extremely painful, and that took a supreme amount of discipline to contain. This was not a fault of Annawen's, however. No, for his reactions he had only himself to blame. It was apparent to Haldir that he had not been successful at shielding Annawen from his inner turmoil. Her growing reserve around him could not be completely attributed to her age – Haldir knew that he was also to blame. She no longer threw herself unguardedly into his arms when she ran down the green slopes of her home to greet him – she stopped short and shyly took his hand, enthusiastic at his arrival yet carefully choosing her words as she walked with him back up the path. Haldir felt a loss and guilt that, for all of his years, he did not know how to repair. He wished, not for the first or last time, that Rumil would come home. Orophin was no less dear or close to him than Rumil, but Haldir did not wish to burden Orophin with a deeply personal pain that seemed to have no cure. Haldir both desired and dreaded Rumil's return. He wanted his brother safely home, yet with him would come news of Marian and perhaps the means of her death. It was news that Haldir craved, but it would reopen a wound deeper and broader than any mighty blow that he had seen in battle, and one much more difficult to mend.

No, it bode no good for what little peace of mind he could muster to watch Annawen laughing and gathering grapes with her grandfather, and think of Marian, and feel the stirrings of desire for Annawen that he shouldn't be having; that he refused to have. It wasn't fair to Annawen. It wasn't fair to Marian. Besides, if Elladan ever realized the way Haldir thought of his daughter when he looked at her, he would surely roast him alive.

Haldir wondered what surprises Annawen's Essecilmë9 would bring. He remembered his own name-choosing ceremony with fondness. He had included only his own father and mother – neither Rumil nor Orophin had yet been conceived. It had been a defining moment in his youth, solidifying his own self-awareness. He hoped it would be as proud a moment for Annawen.

Elladan was enjoying the morning immensely, yet his thoughts flew forward in anticipation of the evening ahead. His father had confided to him that he considered it possible that Annawen carried a fëa reborn. Perhaps the name that his daughter was about to choose would give them some clue as to who she had been in her past life, and who she would fully become in the future – a seamless mixture of her past and present self. Elladan's heart swelled with love and pride for Annawen. She was nearing maturity, and would soon trade her slight awkwardness for the goodness and strength that a father could recognize waiting just below the surface. Any ellon would be lucky to win her heart. He admitted, however, that he would prefer Haldir above all others. And if Annawen's guarded but almost worshipful glances at him were any indication, she might grow to prefer him in a more mature way as well.

Even with ages of patience learned, he could hardly wait until the Essecilmë.

"IMPOSSIBLE!" Master Elrond's outrage reverberated around the paneled walls of his study and startled a trio of ellyn walking by outside on the terrace.

Annawen was not surprised by her grandfather's outburst. The naming of an elf after a mortal was unheard and unthought-of in all of Aman. She had prepared herself for all manner of shocked reactions.

When all had gathered around the fire to sip miruvor after a most joyful dinner, Annawen announced that she had given herself the chosen name of Marian. Haldir's breath caught in his throat and he thought he might not be able to breathe ever again. Allinde came to his side and grasped his arm, but he waved her off. She then attempted to break the tension by asking Annawen if she had named herself after Allinde's mortal friend in Arda. She gave her daughter a reassuring smile that Annawen was grateful and relieved to see. But Annawen answered no, she had wanted to call herself Marian simply because fit her, and asked if there was something wrong with that. Allinde quickly answered no, of course not, and after a flicker of silent consultation with his twin, Elladan nodded his assent.

"I suggest," Elrond said tightly to Elladan, "that you discuss this with Annawen before she makes a final decision."

"I have the right to choose my own name, do I not?" Annawen stood and confronted her grandfather. Elrond might be outraged, but so was she. She was not going to hide in the shadows any more. Yet she glanced worriedly at Haldir, who had not spoken.

"My daughter is dead," Elrond said, his voice lowered but his hands shaking, "Arwen, your sister," he glared at Elladan and Elrohir. "Dead, because she chose to bind herself to a mortal. An elf, denied to ever set foot in Elvenhome. Now you tell me," he turned again to Annawen, "that you stand here an elf, reborn of a mortal. Here, in Valinor?"

Not until Elrond voiced his objection did the concept that she might actually be this mortal woman fully enter Annawen's mind. Now it sprang from a small spark to a bright light in her consciousness. She staggered with the realization of what her thoughts and dreams might foretell. Elladan steadied her with a reassuring hand on her arm. Still, there were so many unanswered questions, so many half-formed memories, especially when it came to Haldir. Could it be true? Inside her heart, she now knew it was more than possible. This mortal was part of who she was – Marian.

"Adan," Allinde spoke in her daughter's defense. "Because something has never happened before, does not mean that it cannot happen."

No," Elrond spoke decisively. "Not even Manwë himself can change the fate of the two races. Such a thing is not possible. Annawen, you must reconsider your decision."

"This is my decision, grandfather. I am sorry that I have disappointed you. I have chosen the name that I have long considered in waking; a name I have often held in my dreams. I will not relinquish it. My chosen name is Marian."

Annawen looked again at Haldir. His eyes were turned away and he seemed to be looking through, not at, the wall of the room. How very far away he seemed. Annawen began to be very afraid. What had she done?

"I wanted to share my name with you," she said, her voice beginning to waver. Annawen swallowed hard. She would not cry. This was supposed to be a happy occasion, but it had gone so very, very wrong. "You are my family – all of you," she emphasized, and her eyes stayed on Haldir. "It was a gift," she pleaded. Finally he looked at her, and his palpable anguish nearly made her cry out. She thought that she might lose her dinner.

"Annawen," Elladan said, putting his arms around her. He trusted that his father would understand that although he loved his sister and her memory, he had made peace with her decision. This was not Arwen – this was his daughter. "Marian. I am honored that you have shared your chosen name with us."

"As am I," Allinde said, and hugged her daughter. Allinde's mind was flying with excitement. It fit, all of it: Annawen's knowledge of things no one had taught her – things that Marian would know about; her strange behavior around Haldir; her very appearance; and Allinde herself feeling a bond of friendship with her daughter that was almost as strong, and yet so different, from a mother's love. She felt Annawen clinging to her, and a wave of sympathy washed over her. How difficult it must have been for her, all of these years, and how confusing! "I believe you," she said, and then stepped back to check on Haldir again. Haldir! At last he and Marian could be together. But Haldir appeared to take Annawen's announcement no better, and perhaps even worse, than Elrond.

Annawen waited for Haldir to speak. The few yards between them felt like a chasm. She loved him. Her dreams told her that she had loved him before. Had he felt the same? Did he feel anything for her now, other than the shock that he had just now managed to hide again beneath his stern façade? What had happened between them, and when would she remember?

"You indeed have the right to choose your name, and you have done so." Elrond came toward his granddaughter to kiss her on the forehead. "So be it," he sighed. "Your coming adulthood will reveal more to you than we here can say. Soon you will remember all, and then we shall see." He motioned to Elrohir, Elladan, and Allinde, and they quietly left the study. Elrohir squeezed Annawen's arm, kissing her on the cheek as he walked by.

Haldir held Annawen's gaze. His jaw worked, his nostrils flared with barely contained emotion. Annawen needed to know what that emotion was. Fearing the worst, she walked stiffly across the expanse of the study's rug to where he now stood, preparing, Annawen thought, to leave the room. A strong wave of physical desire washed over her body from head to toe. The sensation felt at once familiar and new. It excited her. Magnificent, she had called him when she was little. He made her breath quicken just to be in the same room as he, even under these circumstances.

"My Chosen Name disturbs you greatly, dear uncle," Annawen managed to say. "I would know why." Her heart pounded. Would he tell her what he was feeling, and why?

Haldir was angry. With a few words Annawen had placed his confusion about her and his broodings for Marian squarely before him. No longer could he attempt to relegate his grief to a private corner of his thoughts. Nay, she would have him speak of it aloud!

But Haldir was most angry with himself. Elves accustomed themselves to loss. It was a part of the nature of their immortal lives. An elf loved a flower no less for the knowledge that it would soon wither. Perhaps the flower was even more precious for its transitory beauty. Not until Marian had losing been so unbearable, and time had not lessened the sharpness of his pain.

Annawen had tipped him off balance as the outrush of surf might make one who stood ankle-deep in its waters dizzy, with the unseen sands washing out beneath one's feet. He had thought himself stronger than this. Yet an elleth almost still a child could humble him thus.

Annawen had claimed the impossible, and how he hungered to believe her! One part of him demanded that he sweep her into his arms here and now, ignoring that he floundered in a sea of emotion in which he could not separate his desire for Annawen from his desperate need for Marian. This part of him wanted to believe without question that Marian was here – impossibly, wonderfully here just inches away, and could be with him for an eternity.

Another part of him held him back from doing so, the part of him that had learned the wisdom of the ages he had experienced. Annawen had not yet the benefit of the same, though she would in time. This part of him reminded him that such experience carried with it an equal measure of responsibility toward this young elleth. This part of him told him that Elrond's words were not to be denied. The doom of Men was a thing unknown, yet completely separate from the doom of the elves. Annawen had been his salvation, a gift as sacred as these Blessed Lands themselves. Would she be his bane as well?

He must stop this fantasy before it grew; before Annawen was consumed by it, and he consumed with her.

Yet also because Annawen was young, because she had not yet fully remembered her former life – and Haldir acknowledged that she must have had one – he could not be sure. What if it was true? What if, for reasons unfathomable, an exception had been made, just this once? He would wait, and watch. In the meantime, he must not encourage her. Yet Annawen at least deserved to know a little about her namesake. He would tell her about Marian – as much as one of her youth, at least, should know.

Annawen listened to Haldir speak of her mortal namesake. She heard the unmistakable grief in his voice and saw it in his features as he spoke. This Marian, she asked in horror, had she hurt him?

"Nay, she loved me completely, and that love I returned, as best I could," Haldir told her. "I was fain to leave her, yet my vow held me to my cause. It was a bitter parting, and upon it I made a final vow: To never bind myself to another, for love of her."

Annawen would have been left hopeless and jealous of this woman, but for her newfound certainty that she was within her, waiting to be fully revealed.

"Don't you see," she told him excitedly. "I am she, and once I remember all, you may cast away such a grievous vow. For I will tell you now that I love you, Haldir," she confessed daringly. "Even as Annawen only, I love you."

Haldir cautioned her, and it nearly broke his heart to do so. "Pen-muin11, you touch my heart beyond measure. Yet be heedful of Elrond's wisdom. What you have said is not within the power of the Great Ones to make come to pass. This and my vow stand unyielding between us.

Dear Annawen. Consider these things for the months to come before we meet again. Dreams have many meanings, and there may be power in a name that is beyond what the name itself intends."

Haldir was almost relieved when he bade Annawen and the House of Elrond farewell, leaving once more for the harbor. He was almost so bereaved at the thought of leaving her that he could hardly straighten his shoulders and turn to go.

For Annawen's part, she was encouraged rather than daunted by Haldir's words. She understood at last why the things she said and did tortured him so – she reminded him of Marian. Annawen now knew how she could fulfill her deepest desire: To make Haldir happy. All that stood between them now was for Haldir to accept that she was Marian. This, she would make sure came to pass.

Elladan kept his eye half on Haldir, half on Annawen as they rode horseback through the new vineyard of Zinfandel grapes that he and Annawen had planted between the kitchen garden and the forest. Though years had passed, he remembered Elrond's warning when, some time after Annawen's Essecilmë when his heart had softened somewhat toward his granddaughter's assertions: "If Annawen is both herself and this mortal woman reborn, the difference in the races may be too much for Annawen's mind to bear. Be watchful as she nears adulthood, my son, and come to me in the slightest need." Elladan had assured his father that Annawen was strong, and that she would be fine.

Annawen was now mere months from her coming of age. So far, Elladan believed he had been correct. And she had remembered much; much that according to Allinde, only her friend Marian would have remembered. Elladan trusted his wife's judgment in this. His daughter was a most unusual elf indeed. Unusual, and delightful. Elladan was proud to be her adan. And he suspected that Haldir found her to be delightful as well.

Annawen felt more carefree than she had in a long time. She had spoken her Chosen Name, and had stood firm by it. Yes, she had shocked Haldir, and her parents, and certainly Master Elrond, but Haldir had not deserted her. He had returned several times since, exactly when he said he would. Tall and graceful, he was even now riding ahead of her and her ada to the top of the hillock that looked down into the forest. She wished that he would ride next to her instead. "Scouting ahead," her ada called it, but she could not imagine why such care was necessary. This was Elvenhome, not the forests of Tar-. . . Tar-. . . oh never mind, Annawen dismissed the half-thought with a huff. She was convinced she would remember what the name was, in time.

Annawen looked down into the woods to where her secret place would be were it visible. Just yesterday she had told herself that she was finished with it, having felt an urgency to accomplish such physically demanding work while she was young. After all, a part of herself warned, there was only so much time. Yet Annawen knew with an elf's wisdom that the small dwelling would never be "finished." She would expand or shrink or otherwise change with time. Plants would grow about it, claiming their rightful places up and around its walls, taking hold and sprouting on its roof. She had already gathered and set small seedlings around and upon it, training them to conceal and protect it. No, Annawen told herself, it was decidedly unfinished, and she had the rest of her immortal days to perfect it. She told the impatient part of herself to relax. Goodness, sometimes she felt like she wasn't even an elf.

Since her Essecilmë, her dreams of another, mortal life had increased in frequency, length and detail. Her dreams of Haldir had become more, well, personal. This pleased Annawen greatly, as her love for him was now stronger than ever. It didn't matter if it was because of her dreams of him or because of his very real, masculine presence. In both waking and sleeping he had continued to grow more attractive and desirable to her. Her physical reactions to him had grown in equal measure, now so pronounced that she blushed with the newfound knowledge of her own desire. How she wanted him, almost constantly, whether he was present or not. The simplest thought of him, so intensely male, brought images and sensations she had never before thought of – wanton, almost shocking images of what they might do to and for each other, in private. Annawen wanted these things with Haldir. She wanted his lips and his hands to caress her in waking, not in her fantasies only. She wanted him, and only him. What, she wondered, would it really feel like? That was the only thing her dreams, her Marian, could not tell her.

Every time Annawen would allude to knowledge that she thought only Marian would be capable of recalling, Haldir would now regard her with pity. He would find a perfectly reasonable explanation of how Annawen could have found the information: a conversation with her nana or her friends; the histories that Allinde had begun to compile of their time in Earth. Haldir's pity was more unbearable than his anguish had been before. Annawen knew she hadn't consulted anyone or anything. Her research was her memories, and her dreams. But how she would ever convince Haldir of this she couldn't see. It certainly wasn't from lack of trying.

Annawen watched Haldir out of the corner of her eye as he reined in his mount and looked down into the forest, the fair sun shining on his silver-gold hair. A light breeze played along her skin and lifted her hair as she and her ada stopped beside him on the rise of the hill. Haldir glanced at her for only a moment, like hot sunlight bursting through a sudden gap in a cloud. She wanted to be alone with him.

"Will you not walk with me among the trees, Haldir? Surely one who was for long a marchwarden of Lothlorien yet loves the trees; I can see it in your eyes when you gaze at them. Though a sea captain, I perceive that you favor the forest as do I, yet never have I seen you go within. Will you not walk with me in the forest now?

"That is a wonderful idea," Elladan offered, in direct conflict with the sharp look that Haldir gave him. "Why don't you both go ahead. I believe I heard Allinde calling."

"I did not hear Allinde call," Haldir told him decisively.

"You are not bound to her," Elladan sighed, not too dramatically he hoped. "I have much to attend to. I shall expect you both back for dinner." At that he turned his mount and cantered away, careful to hide his amusement. It was not often that he outmaneuvered his bold friend.

"There is a thing of my own making within that I would have you see," Annawen told Haldir, though she was afraid what he might think of her creation. "No others know of it. Though ada and nana have doubtless guessed they have not asked, and I have not shown them."

Haldir did not wish to encourage Annawen. Walking in the woods with her would only bring forth desire for her and memories of Marian. Both were best left untouched. Yet how could he deny Annawen a simple walk in the woods – what could be a reasonable excuse not to go?

Haldir dismounted and held the reins for Annawen, standing well clear of her as she gracefully swung herself to the ground so that he would not be tempted to place his hands around her waist. They left the horses untethered, for they would find their way to the stables on their own. Haldir accepted Annawen's shyly outstretched hand, and they entered the cool and silent woods.

A stray thought entered Annawen's mind - how odd that the leaves did not fall in this forest. She looked at the back of the hand that Haldir was not holding - why had it not yet begun to wrinkle? She shook her head to clear it. Of course the leaves did not fall in Valinor, and neither would she age; never grow stiff and wrinkled. That part of her that remembered growing old inwardly laughed with delight. The whole of her wondered how she would survive the ages if Haldir would not love her.

A refreshing breeze soughed through the canopy of trees and cavorted in small whirlwinds around Annawen's feet as she and Haldir stepped silently along the mossy forest floor. "Perhaps just a little push," a Voice in the wind murmured to the glistening drops of water on the bank of the sparkling woodland spring.

"We are not allowed to interfere," the Voice in the brook-water's mist quietly babbled back to the Voice on the wind. Haldir sprang lightly over the small stream, yet the toes of his sandals had somehow become wet. He held out his hand to Annawen and she crossed easily, droplets of mist clinging to the hem of her gown.

The green leaves rustled, dissatisfied, in the trees above. "How sad. . . " a third Voice among the branches lamented. "The ellon yet deems himself unworthy. He is wise, but loss and honor still blind him to the Gift bestowed upon them both."

Haldir stopped Annawen for a moment, listening. Had the trees spoken? He listened a moment longer. Perceiving nothing more, he allowed Annawen to guide him deeper into the forest along the faintest of trails by the stream. Here and there the sunlight dappled their richly brown and silver-blond hair as they passed beneath the trees, almost invisible to the eye.

"Just a little push. . . . " the Voice on the breeze whispered wistfully to itself.

The soft breeze strengthened to a strong wind as Annawen and Haldir approached the hidden retreat that she had built for herself. She waited to see if Haldir would notice it among the trees; his eyes were most discerning. She had toyed with the idea of building a talan, but she had decided instead to construct something partially sheltered into the earth - not quite a cave, but cozy and not apt to sway in the wind. And what a wind there was today! The sunny sky had darkened unexpectedly, and she felt the first droplets of rain.

Haldir looked up at the swaying branches above. He thought again that he heard a voice, whispering somewhere in the air. A sudden downpour fell on him and Annawen, like an invisible giant had tilted a bucket over their heads. Haldir looked through the heavy rain for shelter. It began to hail. There - just to the side and back a little from the stream, it looked like there was a place arched over with growth that they might take refuge in. "This way!" he told Annawen, and pulled her toward it. Annawen must have seen it as well, for she ran straight toward it with Haldir, and ducked into the opening without hesitation. Haldir looked around the suddenly dry space they were now sitting in. It was a shelter, much like those the march wardens had built in the forests of Tar-Caranorn. Annawen looked at him expectantly, and he began to understand.

"Is this shelter of your making? Is it this that you desired me to see?" he asked her above the beating of the hail just an arm's length away.

Annawen had never experienced an unleashing of frozen rain in Valinor. The weather was invariably perfect, with the ideal mixture of soft rain, warm sun, and cooling gentle breezes. But now the wind was cold, and gusted into the shelter's entrance along with the rain. They were both soaked to the skin. They needed to go further inside.

"Come," she told Haldir, and sliding to the back of the shelter found a hidden latch. Opening a small door, she led Haldir through and down five broad, curved stone steps, into her private domain.

Annawen shut the door behind them, and the drumming hail became but a soft whisper in the welcoming stillness around them. In the harsh weather this much larger part of the structure had been unnoticeable from the outside. Haldir wondered that he had not sensed its presence. He looked forward to seeing if he could in the sunshine that would surely follow.

Dim light that spilled down from the stormy sky through thin beveled glass skylights in the ceiling above. Haldir gazed around the room, taking in what he saw with fascination. It was like looking into the mind of an artist trying to come to terms with her own dichotomies.

The single room was small yet comfortably sized, with a tiered stone floor that began a few steps lower than the stair landing with a small pool. A slow-spilling fountain that Haldir guessed was fed from the stream outside filled the space with the soft music of its waters. At the other side, the room culminated in an inviting raised fireplace with soft cushions arranged round about in the center. The space was not stiffly symmetrical, but beautifully balanced and proportioned, with just enough variation and surprise to increase, not detract from, the aesthetic effect. It was formed by compacted earth at its walls and wood shingles set on polished tree branch framing that curved and arched in and out and up without a single square corner – the essence of elvish delight in building. Yet here and there he saw incongruities, as if some other force was at work that was not quite at one with the theme, or did not understand it. Joints between earth and wood where intent was confused and the skill to accomplish the transition did not come to graceful fruition. The entry door, another not-quite-right element, assembled in directions that the wood did not wish to go and so would not draftless endure the test of time.

Annawen glided easily across the patterned stone floor in the near-darkness and lit several candles. Next, she moved to light a fire with the tinder and logs that sat at the ready in the sculpted iron grate. Haldir walked around the room as it lightened in the flickering glow, running his hands over shelves and niches tiled in the shapes of birds and fish and other creatures of land and sea. Playful patterns revealed themselves in the floor's stonework. Shingles closely overlapped near the top of the walls, then floated up in an undulating rhythm of spacing, like the stanzas of a song. Haldir's hand stopped on a small, smooth, round knob as he examined the ceiling, and he looked down. There below his fingers was a pearl that had been set into the mantelpiece, and next to it another, and yet another. The pearls glowed in the candlelight, interspersed with shells, agates and many other tokens of the beach and the sea. Haldir was dumbstruck. Annawen – for this could be no one else's work – had arranged and embedded every item that Haldir had brought her since she was a small child on the mantelpiece of the fireplace, the most favored location in the room. He was deeply touched. Yet how to express his appreciation without giving Annawen the wrong idea? He was suddenly, acutely aware that he and she were quite alone in this warm, intimate and very secret room, and there was an unusually bitter rain outside. He suppressed the inviting images that this brought to mind as best he could. His body told him that he was not being particularly successful.

Annawen stood below the steps, intently watching for any telltale expression on Haldir's face as he looked at her handiwork. Would he be disappointed, or worse, amused? She knew her craftsmanship left much to be desired. Marian - her Marian - must have left it to others to realize the ideas that so naturally came to mind. How odd that was. It seemed her education, and her work, had been strangely unbalanced. Take the fireplace, for example. She had struggled for months trying to get it to draw right. She had torn it out three times. At last, in complete frustration, she had copied the precise measurements of the inside of Master Elrond's grand fireplace and reduced them in size until they fit her room. She had been successful. Only then had she pressed Haldir's precious gifts into the mortar of the mantelpiece where they would be safe and she would be able to dote on them, and him, whenever she wished.

Annawen had been pulled first one direction, then another while trying to decide each step of building her private retreat. The process of its building, though, had allowed her to come to terms, if not to completely be at peace with, the often battling tendencies in her own mind. Still, she feared that the results spoke of indecision and a decided lack of confidence. She almost began to wish that she had not brought Haldir here.

Be honest now, she inwardly chided herself: You very, very much want him here, all to yourself. She moved to sit on the cushions, then changed her mind and approached him when she saw him pause at the mantelpiece and finger one of the pearls he had given her. Annawen flushed with embarrassment. She hoped he would not think her childish for treasuring them, and wished she could read an expression – any expression – in Haldir's carefully controlled features.

Haldir looked tenderly down at Annawen as she joined him at the fireplace. The firelight played around and behind her, silhouetting her curves through the wetly clinging fabric of her gown in a most mesmerizing way. He wondered if she was aware of the effect, and if she was trying to seduce him. If so, she was doing so with more subtlety and skill than he would have expected from one so inexperienced. And the flush on her face was most becoming. Haldir felt a mixture of surprise, excitement, and acute discomfort. Excitement because, if she only realized it, not only was she capable of seducing him if she attempted to, but she could succeed just as well without even trying. Discomfort, because he absolutely would not allow it.

Haldir tried with increasing difficulty to bring his rising emotions under control. He had thought his heart to be true, but here he was, barely an ennin11 after leaving Marian and the Hither Lands, longing deeply, urgently for another. Yet Annawen insisted that she was Marian. It would be so easy to give in to the idea, so easy to lower his head and taste Annawen's sweet lips with his own. Then, before he realized it, that was exactly what he was doing.

Annawen had never felt such bliss as she did now, with Haldir's lips caressing her own – her first kiss! How wonderful he tasted – woodsy and male, with the slightest hint of almonds. Almonds. . . a memory flooded her mind – a most vivid memory of a room, and a white bed in the candlelight, and Haldir making the most exquisite love to her. The explicit memory overwhelmed Annawen's senses. Her pulse beat as quickly as the rain drumming on the glass above them. She leaned into Haldir and slid her hands up around his neck and into his golden hair, kissing him with a raw hunger that was shocking to only a part of her, lost in the pure pleasure of finally feeling him hold and respond to her.

Haldir felt Annawen shudder, and he found himself participating eagerly in a most intimate and intense embrace. The thin fabric of Annawen's soaked gown left little between him and what he most. . . he had to stop this! He groaned and forced himself to pull away, pushing her arms down off of his neck as gently as he could, mindful of how easily bruised her feelings might be. How could he have allowed this to happen?

Annawen's feelings were more than bruised. She felt utterly rejected and unbearably ashamed. The most incongruous fears assaulted her, one question rejecting the former in rapid and overlapping succession. Was the taste of her so unappealing? Was she too old? Her hair too gray? Ridiculous – her hair would never be gray – she would always look as she did now. Did he not wish to touch a mortal? She was not a mortal! Did Haldir not remember that he loved her? But Haldir had never told her that he did so in any way other than as a godfather! He had wanted to kiss her - did kiss her - but then he had pushed her away. Annawen grew dizzy with the effort of sorting it out. The room was so hot! She gasped for air that she could not seem to find, and reached for Haldir, who seemed to be growing further and further away, down a shrinking tunnel.

Haldir caught Annawen as she fainted, and eased her gently down onto the soft cushions. "Annawen, pen-muin10, hear me," he appealed, trying to rouse her. Her face glowed suddenly. Feeling warmth upon his neck, Haldir looked up and realized that the sun was shining through the beveled glass above, casting its rays upon them. The downpour was over.

Haldir was appalled with his irresponsible behavior. Picking his still unconscious goddaughter up and cradling her tenderly, he made for the door. He would have to answer to Allinde and Elladan. He would take Annawen home, and repair the damage he had caused to her.

Annawen and Haldir had missed the evening meal, and it appeared that they would miss dessert as well. Elladan decided that he would take full advantage of this rare opportunity to be alone with his wife. They waited a respectable amount of time, then consumed their share of the fine dinner. Elladan lit a fire in the grate and joined Allinde in the kitchen to finish preparing their favorite desert together. The recipe had just moments ago been modified to involve a bit of chocolate, and even though it was hardly needed, Elladan was looking forward to the effect that he expected it to have both on himself and on the lovely elleth that he was lucky enough to have by his side. But first he had something serious to reveal to her, now that they were alone and in no risk of being overheard.

"Haldir is in love with Annawen," Elladan announced profoundly to Allinde as he whipped sweet cream into the concoction.

"Really," Allinde snorted delicately, marveling at the density of ellyn in general. "And what prompted this revelation?"

Elladan stared at the side of his wife's grinning face as she laid out the small bowls in readiness for the confection that was his specialty. How long had she known before he'd even realized it? The near clairvoyance of his wife had always been a mystery to him. It was one of the many things that attracted him to her so completely.

"He thinks that I would disapprove," he continued, ignoring his wife's question, the answering of which would only be more embarrassing than the fact that she had noticed first. "I would not. I would be proud to accept him into our family. He would make Annawen happy."

"Then tell him so," Allinde suggested, receiving the mixing bowl from her husband's hands – such skillful hands, she sighed to herself – and ladling its contents into the waiting bowls.

"I can't," he stated the obvious. Why didn't ellith understand the simplest rules of male relationships? "Haldir must speak first, and you know he will not. He will not allow himself to believe that Annawen could also be Marian. Without such assurance, he will never allow himself to acknowledge his feelings for her. He is far too proud. And without him admitting to Annawen that he loves her, neither he nor our daughter will ever be happy." He took the ladle from her and set it down hard on the counter. "I am deeply concerned for both of them. Haldir is my friend as well, but you know him best, my love. What can we do?"

"We must have a party," Allinde said matter-of-factly.

"I am not following you," Elladan said patiently, knowing that his wife's reasoning, though often unfathomable, was sound.

"We will host a dance," Allinde said, becoming more excited as her mind flew with the possibilities. "in celebration of Annawen's coming into adulthood. We can arrange it for the next time Haldir's ship returns to the harbor – that will be close enough to her begetting day to be plausible. And being her godfather, he will have to attend. It is the perfect opportunity. When Haldir sees her as an adult – when he dances with her, as will be his duty – he will have to admit to himself how he truly feels."

"How will simply dancing with our daughter make Haldir suddenly admit he loves her?"

"Why do you think ellith plan dances to begin with?" Allinde gleefully asked her husband. "Because of the effect it has on ellyn," she confided sweetly, picking up two bowls to take into the living room where the warm fire and soft cushions awaited.

"Every elleth knows that males rarely dance solely for the purpose of dancing," Allinde told Elladan suggestively, and brushed against him with lowered lashes as she walked away.

As he watched his wife glide out of view, he felt his toes curl and his pulse quicken, as it always did when she spoke to him in such a tone of voice. He decided to follow her at once.

Elladan twirled Allinde and dipped her onto the cushions in front of the divan. He was just beginning to consider the best use for the whipping cream on top of his untouched dessert, when the front door in the entry was flung open with nary a knock. Elladan stood to look over the divan and saw Haldir's stricken expression and his daughter hanging limp in his arms. Thoughts of all else evaporated instantly.

"We were caught in the rain," Haldir began to explain as he carried Annawen to her bedroom.

"What rain? What has happened?" Allinde asked as she rushed after her daughter. It had been a lovely, sunny day with an even lovelier sunset. There had been no rain. Haldir and Elladan laid Annawen on the bed, and Allinde put a blanket over her, modestly removing her damp clothing underneath.

"I remember. . . " Annawen mumbled, yet still her eyes remained shut.

"What do you remember, Annawen?" Elladan coaxed, smoothing her hair with his fingers. Elrond's warning echoed in his worried mind – that a mortal's memories might be so discordant with their daughter's elvish nature that they could not be joined without harm to her.

"I fear I have caused her much distress," Haldir replied truthfully, ready to admit all and remove himself, as he should, from the honor of remaining Annawen's godfather. But at that moment Annawen opened her eyes groggily and to her surprise, found herself in her own room. "Like Dorothy and the Wizard," she mumbled to herself, blinking at her parents hovering over her. Then she saw Haldir, and turned a deep, beet red. "How long have I been here?" she asked him.

"Only a few moments," Haldir replied, taking her hand and sitting next to her on the bed.

Elladan wondered, among other things, which wizard Annawen was referring to. But both he and Allinde saw that their daughter and their trusted friend needed to speak privately. Explanations could wait. That Annawen had awakened and appeared to be sound in spite of her emotional discomfort, was enough for the moment.

"Stay," Haldir insisted.

"I remembered quite clearly," Annawen repeated to Haldir, "just before I fainted. I remembered – Marian – me - making love to you. I could see it in my mind.

Why won't you believe me?" Annawen said to Haldir's stony silence. "I do not lie – I have never lied to you! Nana, tell him you and ada know I speak the truth."

"We believe her fëa and Marian's are one and the same," Elladan spoke in his daughter's defense. "How else would she know such a thing?"

"Would it not be a wondrous thing," Allinde told Haldir gently, "and heal your heart at last?"

"I have considered it thoroughly" Haldir told them, closing his eyes for a moment. "Your daughter would never purposefully seek to mislead," he took Elladan and Allinde aside. "Lord Elrond your father has cautioned that with the memories of a previous life comes much confusion. Annawen has heard tales of Marian from both our and others – even from myself. However innocently, she may simply wish to be her when in fact she is not. I dare not err, for your daughter's sake more than for my own."

Haldir turned back to his goddaughter. "Annawen, do not seek to convince yourself you are Marian in order to please me. You are a most strong and lovely elleth. You need not try to be more, nor any other than your own self."

"I am not trying to be someone else – I only seek to have you accept who I am. I know you have feelings for me that you do not wish to acknowledge – I saw it in your eyes today, and in your embrace," Annawen insisted tearfully. "Why do you deny it? Must you not be truthful to yourself, if not to me?"

"I do not deny it," Haldir said quietly. "You have spoken frankly to me, pen-muin, and it is time I speak openly to you in return," he said, and laid bare his heart to them all. He told them of his inner struggle, his dreams, his doubts and his fears. For the first time in ages he could not see his way clearly, could not perceive the path that he should take. He must not fail them. He must be sure, beyond any shadow, any uncertainty.

"What would make you sure, Haldir?" Annawen asked, "for I am certain, beyond question or doubt."

Haldir looked to Elladan and Allinde, and they nodded their permission.

After a long moment, Haldir replied, regretting deeply that he must ask Annawen what he was about to ask of her. "If by the singular grace of Ilúvatar you are both Annawen and Marian reborn, then you must recall the one gift I gave Marian at our joining that no other could give you."

Annawen struggled to recall. There was so much more she remembered, but she did not yet remember all. And she had only just remembered that precious night. She chased the shadows of her thoughts, round and round. "I remember. . . you wished to give me something. It was. . . wait. I. . . " Annawen tried as hard as she could to recall Haldir's whispered words in her ear, but they would not come to her. "I will remember. I will. I just can't do it right now. I will remember!"

"Annawen, I am sorry to be so cruel," Haldir took her in his arms and held her tightly, trying to sooth the anguish that he alone was causing her and her parents, his friends. Demanding such a thing from her had done no good – he was still as unconvinced as before, and Annawen was still as confused.

"I will remember," Annawen whispered into his shoulder. "I will remember. I promise."

Haldir paced the deck in a dark mood, though outwardly his crew saw nothing in his manner save patience and the sure confidence that they had grown to know and rely on. So complete was their trust and respect of their Captain's abilities and judgment that not a one of them would hesitate to place their life in his hands. Most of them had done so more than once, for a voyage of adventure with Lord Haldir was not to be embarked upon lightly. He feared little, it was said among the elves of Valinor, save those things that only a fool would lack fear of. Some whispered that his stalwart courage was born of a lack of regard for his own safety, born in turn by some tragedy in his past that had left him grim and determined. Yet this stern outer countenance was balanced by his fairness and attentiveness to the well-being of his crew. When asked of the whisperers, none could name what tragedy might have befallen him. And as the Captain never put his crew purposefully at risk – the far reaches of the sea were risk enough for all - the whisperers became either silent, or were asked when next the ships dropped anchor in the harbor not to return.

Gwilhim considered the dark storm clouds roiling low and menacing off their port bow. One thing that only a fool might not fear, Haldir's First Mate mused, were the Shadowy Seas ahead. The sky had been clear with the promise of a bright day ahead when they had cleared the towered pass of Calacirya. The bay had lain calm as a lake. The plains of Valmar at the feet of the Pelori had been dewy green, their white beaches sparkling like diamonds. But as the ship had left the Lonely Isle far to stern and reached the open sea, the skies had darkened in the East, and the waters had swollen. The waves now rolled and crashed beneath them, sending salt spray high into the air. The clouds ahead loomed thick and ominous. A monstrous gale was afoot, and Lord Haldir had not yet ordered them to turn north, away from the Shadowy Seas and the Enchanted Isles that the Valar had set at the bounds of the Straight Road between the Hither Lands – Earth – and Valinor. To explore the northern waters in the few days they had allotted for this short jaunt had been their course. Yet the treacherous seas to the East drew their Captain with a power that Gwilhim did not understand. Each time they embarked upon a new voyage, they seemed at this juncture to have a Captain on the verge of forging ahead into disaster. Yet each time, at the last reasonable moment, he would turn away and give the command toward whatever destination they had plotted. Gwilhim was not concerned. Their Captain would turn the ship when he was ready.

"Ulmo is displeased this morning, it would appear," Lord Haldir calmly commented to his First Mate over the buffeting wind.

"Let us hope it is not with us," Gwilhim replied with a grin that disappeared as soon as it formed on his lips. Their ship was already at a point further east than Lord Haldir had ever taken his crew. The sky had grown dark and forbidding, and they were drawing uncomfortably close to the swirling storm clouds, heavy and black with rain. The gale flung the crashing waves at them first from one direction and then another, bewildering the crew. Their sails would be little use to them if they did not turn north soon.

"Captain," Gwilhim began.

"Hold your course," Lord Haldir commanded, peering into the darkness ahead. He was looking for something. The feeling had come over him as soon as they had passed out of the bay: The certainty that they should forge ahead, that something waited to be found in the shadows. He did not yet know what it was, but he had learned to trust his instincts long ago. "Tell the crew to keep a keen eye ahead, mellon.3"

Gwilhim shouted directions to the crew without hesitation. Then he searched his Captain's face, but it was as unreadable as ever. He did not ask what they were looking for; if his Captain had needed to tell him, he would. Gwilhim set his gaze to the east, and gripped the helm hard against the wind and the waves that sought, he felt from his fingers to his feet firmly planted on the soaking deck, to cast them in the direction they were supposed to be heading – north.

Haldir paced the rolling bow once more. The ship's white swan head dipped deep into a meeting wave and up again, drenching both him and those behind him with icy-cold seawater. He considered turning away: No feeling, however strong, was worth needlessly endangering his crew. And the wrath of Ulmo was not to be challenged. Was something really out there, or was his heart drawing him back along the Straight Road, which no elf in the Blessed Realm could travel back upon; back to the Earth where nothing, Haldir told himself sternly - nothing – any longer waited for him? He made his choice. Haldir took one long, last piercing look into the murky east, and turned away.

As he turned, out of the far corner of his eye he thought he saw a flash of white – a small sail, he thought, or was it an illusion cast upon them by the Enchanted Isles?

"Gwilhim!" he called, and looked back to the east. There it was again, a white flutter not far away from them in the growing darkness. "Do you see it? Ten degrees off the starboard bow!"

"I see it!" Gwilhim called back, shaking his head. What madness had driven a small boat here, and in such a storm? Surely it would break up before they reached it.

"Turn fifteen degrees to starboard, and furl the mainsail! Quickly!"

With consummate skill, the Captain ordered the large sailing ship close alongside the small craft, but not so closely that it would endanger it on the still-raging sea.

"What manner of boat is that? I have never seen the like of it before," a sailor declared. The crew stared at the small sleek double-hulled craft that sported orange and red stripes along its slender white sides and a canvas stretched between the hulls. Upon it a lone figure struggled valiantly with what remained of his tattered sails.

The boat was doubly fantastic, for it had been heading toward them, and no ship had arrived from along the Straight Road since the Lords Cirdan and Haldir had done so, many years past. Haldir could think of no elf left to travel thus - but one. His lonely heart rejoiced at the end of this elf's journey, just as his anger grew at the sheer foolishness of the means with which it had come about. It was no wonder that the Valar were angry. Yet the elf had made it this far, and Haldir had been drawn to sail this direction. This and the sudden dropping of the wind told him that though the Valar might be displeased, they meant the lone sailor no true harm.

"It is a catamaran," he answered his crew through gritted teeth, though they had no familiarity with the term or the unusual design of the craft floating below. "Bring the sorry fool aboard, and what is left of his little boat, before he drowns."

Haldir waited with an air of arrogant disdain while the shattered remains of the boat and its contents were fished out of the dark waters and hauled upwards to the main deck. Its crew of one stood wet and bedraggled but firm upon the canvas deck of his boat, gripping a satchel in one hand and raising the other in salute.

"Permission to come aboard, Captain?" the blond elf brightly asked to the gaping crew as though it was a sunny day and he had arrived stylishly dressed for a celebration instead of in tunic and leggings that were as tattered as his sails.

The crew parted as their Captain came forward to examine their new guest.

"Ah, Captain. Permissi. . . Haldir?" the elf gasped in delighted surprise until he saw the look upon the Captain's face.

Lord Haldir walked slowly and deliberately from one side to the other of the expensive and now shattered catamaran, ignoring the elf that stood upon it. He came to a stop and examined the writing on the boat's stern down his nose, arching one dark eyebrow in obvious disapproval. A crewman snickered, but Gwilhim silenced him with a glance.

"The Mary Sue. San Francisco, California," their Captain read aloud in the low, sarcastically dangerous tone that they had learned to avoid at all cost. He shifted his piercing eyes to the elf, silently demanding an explanation.

"I borrowed it," the elf shrugged. "Only yesterday its owner told me that I could use it whenever I wished."

The Captain looked far from satisfied.

"I left her a note," the elf added defensively, jumping lithely off of the canvas and onto the ship's deck, which now rolled only slightly upon a calming sea.

The crew stepped forward menacingly. "I have not given you permission to come aboard," Lord Haldir warned, though his anger was quickly turning to suppressed mirth.

"Truly I did not expect the rare honor of an escort," the elf continued undaunted, stepping directly in front of the Captain and bowing with his hand on his heart, "but since you have already gone to the trouble, I accept."

To the crew's amazement, their Captain's face burst into a wide grin and he clasped the elf in a hearty embrace. "Mae govannon, muindor.4 Welcome home," he said. "Gwilhim, turn one-eighty degrees to port. Take us back into the harbor. My brother Rumil looks as though stepping upon the solid shores of Valinor would benefit him greatly."

"Have you any wine?" Rumil asked Haldir when he had comfortably seated himself in Haldir's cabin. "Or bread, or cheese, or all three? I am famished."

Haldir gathered the requested foodstuffs and placed them on Rumil's side of his desk.

"Perhaps I should sleep first, and then eat," Rumil said, looking first at the food and then at Haldir's bunk in fatigue and indecision. Then he examined his older brother thoroughly. "You look terrible, by the way, has no one told you? And how is Orophin?"

Haldir stared back at his brother without replying, then began to laugh. How he had missed Rumil's annoying, cleansing companionship!

At length the two brothers wiped the tears of a hearty laugh from their eyes.

"Haldir, have I tales to tell you. You must hear what good and unforeseen changes have come to pass. Marian did well by you Haldir, she would have made you proud. I have something I have kept for you." Rumil opened the satchel he had grasped under his arm and refused to let go of. He pulled out a scrapbook, and handed it to Haldir across the desk. "It is a record of her work, Haldir, and of the accomplishments that sprang forth from her efforts. Of course it is from the mortals' point of view, but it is accurate enough in its way." Rumil searched his brother's face carefully, sensing the effort that it took Haldir to listen to his words. He sensed as well as saw Haldir's careworn brow and the deep sadness that flowed from his fëa. "I will tell you about her, when you are ready." Haldir took the book reverently, but placed it on the desk without opening it. He needed to steel himself for what it would contain before he could examine its contents.

"I have much to relate to you as well," he told Rumil.

Rumil was looking forward to attending the coming of age party for Haldir's goddaughter. He would finally see Orophin again, and he was eager for the three of them to reunite at last. Haldir assured him as they stepped off of the ship and started up the first of many staircases leading up through gleaming Tirion to the House of Elrond, that there would be ample opportunity to regale those assembled with some of Rumil's Tales of Arda. Allinde – Rumil was most pleased that she had recovered - would be there to confirm much of what he planned to tell of, so that none would wonder if he exaggerated. And he was excited about meeting Annawen.

"I am sure I can win her heart," Rumil told his brother, to which he immediately received the bristling reply that he was not to toy with Annawen's affections. Rumil read more in Haldir's reaction than he had intended - it was apparent to Rumil that Haldir cared for her. Upon further skillful inquiries, Rumil coaxed Haldir into revealing that this young elleth believed she was reborn of Marian. Rumil was to beware and tread lightly. It was no wonder, Rumil thought to himself, that Haldir seemed doubly aggrieved. "You are taking me to a party for an unbalanced elleth?" he asked to lighten his brother's mood. "She will be a new challenge." Haldir was not amused.

The brothers were welcomed into the foyer of Elrond's home. They could hear music and many voices from the large hall beyond. They were told that the Lord Elrond would greet them within and were relieved of their cloaks, but Rumil kept the scrapbook that he had brought with him tucked tightly under his arm. Haldir paused at the lofty open doors of the hall for Rumil's benefit.

"Lord Elrond's new abode surpasses even the Last Homely House," Rumil commented appreciatively. "Yet even more welcoming is that brown-haired elleth. She is far across the room but already is she so taken by me that she cannot stop staring. Look – even now she is making her way through the crowd toward us, with eyes for no other."

The moment that Annawen saw Haldir and the elf beside him appear in the doorway, a wave of familiarity washed over her. She knew this ellon! He was the other elf in her dreams, the one she had never quite been able to place. Now, as she drew closer, the sum total of all of her memories came rushing back. She ran the last few yards toward him, and threw herself into his arms. "Rumil!" she exclaimed, and held him tightly, refusing to let go. Rumil looked over her shoulder at Haldir in shocked delight – it wasn't every day that an elleth was so willing and easy.

But then she let go of him, stepped back with a frown and put her hands angrily on her hips.

"What took you so long?" she scolded him soundly, and a few elves close by in the room turned to look at the trio in curiosity. "Why did you tarry when your brother had need of you?

"Well I. . . he did?"

Didn't you promise me – PROMISE me – that you would go - I mean, come - back, immediately?"

Rumil gaped at her in utter shock. Haldir took both of their arms and pulled them aside into Elrond's study.

"Annawen," Haldir began calmly and firmly, "you have never met my brother Rumil, though I see you heeded the message that he would arrive by my side. I would introduce him to you properly."

"No introduction is necessary," Annawen replied equally firmly but reeling from the knowledge that she now possessed. "Rumil and I know each other quite well, as you would know if you would acknowledge who I have been as well as who I now am." Annawen turned excitedly to Rumil. Here was the perfect opportunity, she thought. If she could convince Rumil that she was Marian, then Haldir would have to admit it as well.

"Rumil, you recognize me, don't you." How hard could it be, Annawen asked herself? Surely Rumil would know her immediately. He had not seen her as a child in Aman, as Haldir had.

Rumil allowed himself to look at Annawen carefully, for in spite of his brother's warnings, he, Counselor to the Lord Haldir, fully intended to make up his own mind. Besides, this lovely young elleth was hardly difficult to look at, and now he had her permission to do so quite thoroughly. He put the scrapbook down on a nearby table, and slowly examined her features with pleasure.

"Rumil, be serious. Stop flirting" the rather strange elleth chided him impatiently. Rumil was taken aback: Stop flirting? He had yet to begin. "Please," she added almost pitifully, and he read in her eyes the desperation that she was trying to conceal. He could almost believe her; she did appear as Marian would likely have looked as a young woman. She had the dark brown hair that Marian had possessed before it grayed, and the dark brown eyes to match. Her tall figure was similar, but more perfectly proportioned. Certainly her bearing and her disrespectful, cheeky attitude toward him were identical to those of the Marian he used to know. A lump formed in Rumil's throat. He still missed his dear friend greatly, and always would. He could barely imagine the loss that Haldir still must feel at their parting – he could feel the grief emanating from him ever since they had reunited. In spite of this, he had quite enough experience not to allow such emotions to shift his perceptions of the elleth standing anxiously before him and his brother, begging to be believed. And yet. . .

"I will leave the both of you to continue becoming familiar with each other," Haldir said dryly, and began to step away. "Yet be brief, and mindful of Orophin and the other guests who await you both."

"Ask me anything, anything about you and Marian in Arda, and I will tell you about it," the elleth declared before Haldir could completely leave the room. "Ask me how we were – are - best friends. Ask me. . . ask me how it was that you stayed by my side when your brother and all of your kin departed," she went on, and Rumil could see her becoming more and more emotional, as if she really was remembering that most difficult moment. Haldir paused at the threshold. Rumil noticed the stiffness in his shoulders. This elleth's statements were tearing him apart. He noticed Annawen's eyes, focused on Haldir as though she would stop him by the magnet of her gaze alone. Haldir stepped over the threshold and into the company beyond.

"Tell Haldir who I am, Rumil," the elleth turned back to him and desperately shook his shoulders. He thought he saw a very Marian-like wave of self-doubt pass over her features. "Tell him I am Marian Elizab. . .. oh crap!" she stopped herself and swore. Annawen cursed her lack of control. She remembered that she had hated her middle name, and had never wanted Rumil to know it, for he would tease her unbearably.

She cursed! Rumil thought to himself. At the same moment, Annawen came to the same realization. "Did you hear me?" she asked him triumphantly. "Have you ever heard anyone in Valinor swear about anything? Do they even know any swear words? I know a lot of them."

Rumil held up his hand to stop her from listing them. "Dear lady, I have only myself dwelt in Aman for little more than a day," he protested, "and much of that in well-deserved sleep. In the few hours I have been awake in this fair land, I have heard no such offensive utterances save only from you."

"Rumil?" The door opened, and Orophin and Allinde stepped into the room to greet him like the long-lost brother and friend that he was.

"Annawen, you forget your manners. You must share Rumil with our other guests," Allinde grinned.

"You must be hungry, muindor, and you must tell me everything," Orophin said, grasping Rumil heartily by the arms. "Annawen, join us at table. I have seen through the crack in the pantry doors that Master Elrond is providing a superb repast in your honor."

"I will join you shortly," Annawen told them with a pleading look at Allinde. She needed a moment to compose herself. There was much now that she understood. All of the blank places seemed to be filling in with their missing pieces, but her mind was reeling with it all.

Allinde escorted the brothers out of the room, but came back to her daughter's side. "Tell me," she said gently.

"I have just remembered so much, nana," Annawen. "I think. . . I think that I now remember everything. I know without a single doubt who I am. And I am now doubly happy that you are my naneth, my dear, dear friend!" Annawen and Allinde hugged each other joyfully. "Please give me a few moments alone. I am very tired."

"Of course, Annawen. Just don't be too long. Your father will become worried. And you must tell your grandfather. He will be most intrigued – once he gets over it. And he will," Allinde assured her daughter. "I am so happy you have been granted the Grace to be with us – Marian. So very happy!"

Annawen sat at the table opposite her grandfather's desk and looked out the window at the twinkling lights of Tirion. She was so tired. She began fingering the travel-worn book on the table. Hadn't Rumil come in with a book under his arm? This didn't look like anything from Elrond's library. She opened it, and began to read the newspaper clipping on the first page. With growing excitement, she flipped through the scrapbook, scanning page after page and examining the faded photographs. A National Geographic cover: "Methentaurond – Archeological Find of the Millenium." The National Enquirer: "Elves – Are They Real and Living Among Us?" Annawen laughed – the picture under the headline was ridiculous! She remembered laughing with Rumil and the others about it. She turned another page. There was her picture, and there, a picture of a man she knew – Joel, she thought, with a caption: "Noted San Francisco Physician Finds Holistic Cancer Cure." And then another, later photograph of her. Good Lord, she had been old! Annawen stopped at a Scientific American article, and tears rolled from her eyes. It was the photograph of Haldir, the one that she had treasured so close to her heart for so many, lonely years. It had been Rumil, she thought with love, who had kept her going. She clasped the scrapbook to her heart.

The door opened behind her. A strong, warm hand touched her shoulder. "Annawen," Haldir's rich voice spoke her name. If only he would speak her other name as well, and accept that it was hers.

Annawen wiped the tears from her eyes, and turned to see Haldir and Master Elrond looking down on her with concern. She held the scrapbook out for them to see. Haldir looked at its open page, and his face turned white.

"I remember everything," she told Haldir triumphantly, trying to keep her voice steady. "I can tell you everything in this book without even looking at it. Just ask me – ask me anything."

Haldir lifted the book from her hands, closed it, and put it back on the table. "You already have looked at it, Annawen, though I have not," he said with a pitying look, and smoothed the hair back from her cheeks.

"Come into the hall with us, and leave this book and what lies within to its rest. This celebration is in your honor," Elrond reminded her. "Should you not attend it for at least a short time?"

"But grandfather," Annawen began.

"We will discuss this later," Elrond said firmly, and guided her into the hall.

Where had Rumil gone, Annawen wondered? Rumil knew what was in the book. She would find him, corner him, and not let him go until he believed her. There he was, sitting in one of the hall's windowed alcoves, deep in conversation with Orophin. Annawen started toward them, then stopped herself. In her eagerness to prove herself she had thought little about Rumil's reunion with his brothers. It was shameful of her. She would make herself wait, and speak to him later.

Haldir excused himself and joined Rumil and Orophin. Annawen regarded them fondly, for she loved each of them. Of course Haldir was the tallest of the three, and the most imposing. How beautiful he was to her and how very, very dear. Such heartache she was causing him, instead of the happiness that she so fervently intended. Was she really trying to make him happy, she wondered guiltily, or was it only herself she was thinking of?

The brothers took their places together at the long table Elrond had prepared.

"What is your impression?" Haldir asked Rumil in a low voice.

"I assume you are asking me if I believe that your lovely goddaughter, who thinks she is also Marian, could in fact be her instead of in dire need of a healer," Rumil said under his breath. He paused and straightened his knife and fork, then helped himself to a bowl of fruit. Haldir waited. He well acquainted with Rumil's dramatics.

"She is willful and impatient; she insults me without hesitation," Rumil ticked off each observation by lining up a strawberry on his plate. "She is completely indifferent to my considerable charms; she curses proficiently." He took a spoonful of cream and plopped it on top of the row of strawberries for emphasis: "I think she could be," Rumil answered to Haldir's frustrated reaction. "Already she has spoken of things to me that Marian would know. Orophin, what is your opinion?"

"I cannot say," Orophin leaned across the table to respond low enough so that their conversation was not overheard. "I did not know the woman as you both did."

"The words of Elrond cannot be denied," Haldir replied with a frown. "A mortal cannot become immortal, no matter how much I wish it to be so. I will not deceive myself."

"Does it matter?" Rumil asked him. He had almost forgotten how unbearably noble Haldir could be. "She is obviously deeply in love with you, and you with her – I can see it is true. Why not make each other happy, instead of making each other miserable?" Then Rumil became quite serious. "Marian would have wanted you to, Haldir."

"I will not have Annawen or I live a lie," Haldir pushed back from the table, his food untouched. "This must end, tonight."

"Haldir, what has become of you?" Rumil hissed at him. "Surely anything is possible. Have you no faith, no hope?"

"Faith that the very fates of elves and men have suddenly changed, for my benefit alone? No, Rumil, I hold no such faith - it would be blasphemy and arrogance unmatched. And what hope I yet have, I hold for Annawen and her future; not for myself. She must be free of me, so that she can prosper and love another, without the shadow of my grief to poison her.

That is the answer then," Haldir nodded to himself. "I must not see her again, not, at least, for a very long time. Then her mind will clear, and she will at last find her true self."

Haldir waited until the first polite opportunity to leave the gathering, then made his excuses to Elrond, Elladan and Allinde. Lastly, he walked Annawen outside to the grand steps of the house that cascaded down to meet the wide, descending stairs of Tirion, and from thence to the sea that lay sparkling in the starlight.

Haldir congratulated her formally, and bowed his goodbye. He could not bear to tell Annawen the full intent of his departure; only that he would be at sea, this time, for a very long while. Annawen argued with him, as he knew she would. Must he leave so soon? The evening was not yet over. Could he not stay for the dancing, and the telling of tales? He replied that he could not.

It was the book, wasn't it, Annawen said to him. She promised that she would not speak of it, or of Marian again, if only he would stay. He told her he must not. Heartbroken, she repeated Rumil's question - why did it matter, she insisted, if she was Marian or not, when she loved him so completely?

"Ever since I was an elfling," Annawen told him sorrowfully, "I have desired naught but for you to be happy. I have prayed to the Valar for you to see me for who I am – one who loves you now as I loved you before, completely and wholly. But I have learned a bitter wisdom: I cannot make you happy, Haldir. Only you can do so. You left me once because you had to, and I did not ask you to stay though my heart was shattered. Will you leave me now, again, when you are free to remain if you wish it?"

"Annawen. . . " Haldir began, but his voice caught in his throat and he could not go on.

"I am Marian, Haldir, and I love you. Can you not believe me?"

Haldir thought that he might lose his mind. There was only one way that he could truly know for sure. He forced himself to ask her again, "What gift did I give you then, that none other could give?"

Annawen tried to think back, but she was panicking. She had to breathe, and clear her mind. "It. . . it was your name! You gave me your chosen name!" Annawen said triumphantly.

"What is my chosen name?" Haldir asked Annawen, and held his breath. Could it really be her, in spite of everything he knew to be inviolate about the two Children of Ilúvatar?"

She remembered everything, she thought. She must know this. She lifted a silent prayer to the Valar that that this one last memory would not be denied her. It was useless. She just couldn't . . . "I cannot remember!" she cried out in despair.

Haldir bowed his head in defeat. "We are the First Children, Annawen. We are not the Followers. Their fate is not our own. You must come to accept this, for your happiness is my greatest desire as well. That is why I must let you go, pen-muin – because I took a vow I will not forsake, and no less because I love you too much to allow myself to stay. Namarie12."

Helplessly, Annawen sank to the steps as she watched Haldir – her Haldir – leave her again.

Allinde was afraid for her friend and daughter. She had eaten nothing in the two days since Haldir had departed, and had drank little. Neither had she risen from bed for anything but the barest of necessities. Elladan had summoned Elrond to her side, but even he had accomplished nothing. To all who looked upon her, it appeared that she was beginning to fade away.

Elrohir had suggested that they search for Haldir and bring him back, but Allinde had protested: It was not Haldir's fault, she had told them. He had made his choice. Who among them was wise enough to insist he choose otherwise?

Elrond had deferred to the truth of her words. It was, he agreed, Annawen that must now make her own choices. Instead of calling for Haldir, he sent for Rumil, and the scrapbook.

"I have spoken to Haldir," Rumil told them outside Annawen's door. "He will not waver in his decision. He believes he has decided rightly. Even now he prepares his ship to sail once more. I do not know when he will return."

"She is on the porch," Allinde said, guiding Rumil through to the back of the house. "She has lost all hope, and I know not what more to do for her. You and Marian were so very close. Perhaps you can rouse her, and convince her to eat."

"You truly believe her to be Marian?" Rumil asked Allinde.

"I do," she replied without hesitation.

"I would speak to her alone," Rumil requested, and stepped out on the wide balcony that looked over the garden and vineyard beyond.

Annawen was seated on a chaise lounge near the railing, a blanket clasped around her. Rumil was shocked at her haggard appearance, but pulled a chair up next to her as if he was making the most casual of visits. He set the scrapbook on his lap where Annawen could not help but notice it. She gave no acknowledgement that he was there.

Rumil cleared his throat and leafed through the scrapbook until he found the page that he wanted, and propped it up so she could see it as well. Marian had been an architect, so Rumil thought that he should start with the most visual items in the book first, to see what Annawen would do. He held up the cover of a news magazine that had been quite controversial among the mortal critics of the time. It was a photograph of the wooden doors to Methentaurond, with the Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel's figures clearly visible. "Before the Egyptians, before Cro-Magnon – did Elves Rule the Earth? Inside: Credible science, or incredible hoax?" he read.

He waited, but Annawen did not respond. He saw, however, that her eyes had shifted ever so slightly toward the scrapbook. He decided to consider that a good sign, and flipped slowly through the book, stopping at another page with a large photograph. "'Botanical print of newly discovered flowering plant, claimed to have been drawn by the elves. Park personnel have translated the accompanying caption, which indicates that the plant, found within the World Heritage Site and nowhere else on Earth, may have medicinal properties.' One of Gladrel's plates, I am sure. I remember it. The photograph was taken by – now what was her name, the one who was an art historian. She wore overalls all of the time, as I recall."

Annawen looked directly at the scrapbook. Her eyes were dull. "It doesn't matter," she whispered.

"It matters very much," Rumil replied. He turned to another page. "Ah. Perhaps you will remember this one: "Park Superintendent Claims Fairies Built Bridges." You found it particularly irritating at the time, as I recall."

"Idiots." Annawen's eyes flared for an instant, and she looked at Rumil at last. "I was angry, and you laughed about it. I rolled up the paper and whacked you with it. You had it coming."

Rumil stared at Annawen. He knew this elleth, knew her very well.

"Marian!" he cried, and jumped up to dance about the porch. "I cannot believe it! Marian!"

Elrond, Allinde and Elladan came out onto the porch, drawn by Rumil's exclamations.

Annawen had not moved from her position on the lounge.

"Annawen, I can no longer deny what is before my own eyes," Elrond said, bowing his head to her in amazement. "Forgive me for doubting you, granddaughter. The Creator of All must have brought you here for a great purpose, for it is beyond even the power of the Valar to grant such a favor. This truly is a thing new and unfathomable. Arise now, and treasure the Grace you have been granted."

Annawen was weak and listless, but she heard the wisdom of Elrond's words. She had been thinking upon exactly that for days: She had decided that if Haldir would not accept her, she no longer wished to live – how could she live without him? What would be the purpose? But deeper inside, she knew how selfish that was, how unappreciative of her for the chance she had been given. Still, she could hardly conceive of facing the endless years ahead without him. How could she? What could she grasp on to, to keep herself afloat?

"He always told me when he was going to come back," she said numbly. "This time, he didn't tell me. He is not coming back."

"I have changed my mind," Rumil said sternly and crossed his arms. "You cannot possibly be Marian."

"Rumil!" Allinde gasped. "You cannot mean that!"

"I do indeed," Rumil asserted. "The Marian I knew would not give up, lying in bed and fading away in self-pity," he went on cruelly. "My Marian would get up and go after what she wanted. My Marian was a fighter – she would not take 'no' for an answer. You cannot possibly be her." And with that, Rumil turned around and left the balcony.

Allinde and Elladan stood in shock for a long moment, watching silent tears well from Annawen's eyes and fall down her pale face. Allinde cried out and moved to go to her daughter, but Elrond restrained her, and led her into the house. Elladan followed, furious at Haldir's brother.

"What have you done?" Elladan confronted Rumil, who now sat silently outside the front door with his head in his hands.

"He has done what he had to do," Elrond said to his son, putting a hand on his arm. "Wait."

Long minutes passed in silence, and Rumil sat trembling at what he had said. He only hoped and prayed that he had not erred. He had never said anything so hurtful to Marian in his life, even in jest. At length, the three of them heard sounds within, and the door opened.

"Well," Annawen stood in front of Rumil with her hands on her hips, swaying with fatigue that she refused to allow to stop her. "Are you coming with me, or not?"

"I would be honored to accompany you," Rumil stood and told her with extreme relief.

"By the way, you are even more of a pain in the ass now than when I was a mortal."

"I aim to please," Rumil quipped, delighted that he had gotten the last word in for once. He was sure it wouldn't last.

Haldir paused with one foot about to step into the waiting longboat. In spite of his monumental efforts to appear calm and controlled in front of his crew, his chest was heaving with almost unbearable pain. He closed his eyes, torturing himself with the image of Annawen's anguished face when he had left her sitting on the stairs. "Don't leave me!" – her words echoed in his mind – "I love you!" How very cruel a parody it was of another woman, on another shore. He had left her, and now he was leaving Annawen. Haldir choked down the cry of grief that welled up into his throat from the very depths of his being. He could not think of himself, but of the poor misguided elleth that was his goddaughter. He owed her this. If he stayed, he could not help but succumb to her charms, and to her love. He would not do that to her – would not make her his bond-mate, like every fiber of his soul was demanding he do – would not make love to her, with Marian's face in his mind. Indeed, his love for Annawen and his love for Marian were now so tangled together that he could no longer separate them. There could be no honor in such a union, no truth to base a future on, only smoke and confusion. No, leaving was the only right thing to do. He was not worthy of her. Neither was he any longer worthy of Marian's memory. He had to provide Annawen with the time to learn to love another; and he was sure that in time she would. In time, she would give up her fantasy of trying to capture his heart by trying to become someone she was not – someone who was only a shadow to her – and blossom fully into her own unique self.

He would not fail Annawen or Marian. He would take his ship and whomever would follow him far into the northern seas, far closer to the stars and the Wall of Night itself than any had dared before. Let the Valar strike him down for his arrogance: He no longer cared. He must no longer allow himself to gaze upon Annawen's sweet face, for fear of what they would both become.

Do not look back, he told himself. He stepped heavily into the boat, with not a word to his crew, and stared darkly down at the hull as if his eyes would burn a hole through it to the bottom of the sea. With a look of grave concern for his captain, Gwilhim called the sailors to their oars, and the boat struck the first of the ocean swells, the salt-spray sparkling in the clear, Valinorean sun. Haldir saw none of its beauty, but only the blackness descending upon his own heart. How could he endure such loss, such guilt, for an eternity?

"Rumil helped me over the last of the low dunes along the shore, and I found myself at last on a beautiful beach with soft white sand," Annawen told the group of elves gathered around her near the glowing fire. "Clumps of low white-flowered beach plants and wild strawberries tumbled over the sand. Gentle waves swelled and sparkled in the bright, warm light, clear and blue-green, and the call of the white gulls was in the air. Little shore birds with long, spindly legs danced and pecked in and out along the frothy edges of the waves that rose and receded along the shoreline. They scattered nimbly at my approach. I ran quickly and desperately along the edge of the waves, lifting my skirts and shielding my eyes to try and see offshore past the bright light glaring off of the water.

A tall gray ship floated near the horizon, its white sails furled in the warm breeze. But the ship was not what I was looking for.

I cupped my hands around my mouth, calling a name unfamiliar to me, but I knew with certainty that whatever this strange name I was calling, it was Haldir I was calling for. I stopped and repeated the name to myself. It must be – it was – his Chosen Name! I remembered! Thankful that the breeze was at my back, I felt that I had some chance of being heard. I was frantic for him to hear me call him that name, before it was too late. Yes, the mortal in me feared that this would be my only, my last chance. And for once the elf in me held the same fear.

There it was! On the crest of the waves rose a small boat, making swiftly for the ship. It held four people, and one of them, I was sure, was Haldir. His waist-long silver-blond hair fanned behind him in the breeze and glinted in the everywhere-light, a brilliant light without source or shadow, making me feel unbalanced as I ran along the sand trying to draw closer to the boat so he could hear me.

I stopped and waved my arms. If only he would turn, just a little, so he could see me! But the boat was drawing further away.

Unexpectedly, a strong gust of wind hit my back. With all of my might, I called the strange name again as loudly as I could, praying for the wind and the Valar to carry my voice.

After an agonizingly long moment, the tall elf with the silver-blond hair turned, his gray cloak catching in the breeze.

I waved my arms, and called to him again.

He turned away. I had failed. Despair engulfed me, and I sank to my knees in the sand. I forced myself to look back up, to look upon him in the distance just one more time.

The boat hung on a wave as if it was suspended in time. Then slowly it began to turn back toward shore.

I struggled back to my feet, daring to hope again. The breeze died as if to ease the rowers' task, and the sea birds swooped low, escorting the boat toward shore.

Dressed in sea-farer's garb, Haldir lithely swung himself out of the boat and waded toward me, pushing through the surf and shifting sands with long, powerful legs.

He stopped a few yards from me, the tide swirling around gray leather boots that were buckled up to his thighs. His cloak, now soaked to the knees, tugged heavily back and forth with the tide unnoticed as he stared at me with eyes that looked as if they were seeing a ghost; dark, fathomless eyes the color of a moonlit, storm-tossed sea.

"Marian?" he said after a moment in a cautious, bewildered voice, his eyes searching my face like I was a stranger.

Yes, it IS me! I entreated, stepping through the water toward him. I repeated that strange name once more – his Chosen Name - drinking in his form, his face, his eyes, and begged him with trembling lips: "Believe that it is me. Please."

"Elizabeth!" he cried out with dawning recognition. I saw with a joy so profound because it had come from the depths of sorrow, that at long last he allowed himself to hope, to believe. He closed the distance between us, taking my face in strong hands that were shaking, and looking at me reverently like a precious, lost jewel.

I leaned toward him and threw my arms around his neck, and we drew each other into a long-awaited, thirsty embrace.

"Amin mele lle13," he whispered, stroking my hair and rocking me as we held each other tightly. "Amin mele lle, Elizabeth," he repeated as I cried. I felt his tears mingle with mine, salty as seawater, and his hair rose around us on the renewed breeze like a halo."

"And so," Rumil rose and came to stand next to Annawen's chair, "Annawen Marian Elizabeth, vintner of the House of Elrond, and Lord Haldir, marchwarden of Lothlorien, Lord of Methentaurond, and Captain of the Northern Seas, bound themselves each to the other and are living happily ever after, in this very house!

Out of the corner of her eye, Annawen caught sight of Haldir standing almost out of view behind the arched entry to the Hall. He nodded to her knowingly, and Annawen's heart swelled with love and contentment as he crossed the hall to join her. "Amrun nin14," he had called her only that morning, an endearment that she had not remembered until he had whispered it in her ear. And shortly before waking, she had experienced the most wonderful dream. She and Haldir had settled comfortably into the cushions of her secret retreat, and he had begun to make love to her. Then she had awoken and reached out for him, real and solid and warm beside her, and they had joyously finished what her dream had begun.

Haldir's eyes roved lovingly over his wife as he joined her and Rumil near the fire. He had experienced the most wonderful dream just that morning: Annawen and he had escaped to her shelter in the woods. He had lit the candles and kissed her tenderly, then hungrily. He had laid her on the soft cushions, and had begun to make love to her. Then he had awoken, needful of her, to find her soft and warm beside him, willing and more than ready to take him into her arms. Truly, he had been blessed. Tomorrow, unbeknownst to Annawen, he would sweep her off to that very hideaway and complete the dream. He had already started to pack a basket for the occasion.

Thus end Marian's Tales of Arda for tonight," Rumil told those gathered around her.

Annawen put her private thoughts aside for the moment and smiled up at him. An elf near the back of the group raised his voice in song, and soon the hall was filled with music and merriment, as was meant to be in the House of Haldir, in the Blessed Realm.

1Fëa: spirit

2Hrondo: body

3Mellon: friend

4Mae govannon, muindor: Well met, dear brother.

5Nana: mommy Naneth: Mother

6Ada: daddy Adan: Father

7Elleth: female elf Ellith: Female elves

8Ellon: male elf Ellyn: male elves

9Essecilmë: Name-choosing ceremony

10Pen-muin: Dear one

11Ennin: 144 years

12Namarie: Farewell

13Amin mele ile: I love you

14Amrun nin: My sunrise


End file.
